


Unconditionally

by BookofLife



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: A lioness with a genius IQ, Alternate Universe, Anger, Arrow (TV 2012) Season 7, Best Friends, Dark, EXCITING, F/M, Family, Fun, Gen, Hatred, Heroism, Jealousy, Loneliness, Love, Mentions of the past, Oliver and Felicity didn't get together before this one, Original Team Arrow, Prison story line re-write, Sad, See past the flesh, Sex, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Unconditional Love, Ungrateful team, Unknown Love, and live for, but you might enjoy that one, character death towards the end, die for, is it too late to apologise, letting go, ungrateful SCPD, what should have been said, what wasn't, what we fight for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 15:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18210032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookofLife/pseuds/BookofLife
Summary: He did everything everybody asked of him, and it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.So she'd make it enough, she'd make it better.And hope she didn't destroy herself in the crossfire.ORWhy Oliver really went to prison and how it changed EVERYTHING.





	Unconditionally

**Author's Note:**

> (So I'm starting my summer fics early because our show will be ending a little sooner than I'd planned)  
> Guys, Oliver doesn't stay in prison long in this fic, okay? That isn't the point of this story. But the first chapter is about that.  
> And everything that wasn't said.  
> I hope you enjoy this: leave me a line because reviews let me know if this sucks or not :)

**Stood at the cold face, stood with our backs to the sun**

**I can’t remember being nothing but fearless and young**

**We’ve become echoes, but echoes, they fade away**

**We’ve fallen to the dark as we dive under the waves**

_- **Aquilo**_

It was nonsensical.

“Why… why are they taking him away?”

Stood – alone – in the middle of one of the many nondescript hospital hallways, Felicity watched their retreating forms; unable to move seeing Oliver flanked by four FBI agents as they disappeared around a corner.

They hadn’t spent the last six years trying to save a dying city for this, _not this- no._

Oliver’s arms were where they never should have been: held behind his back by his own cuffed wrists, as if he were one of the many criminals they’d helped put behind bars and the sight was enough to make her sick. _Don’t throw up yet_ , because she needed details, she needed to know why.

Why his shoulders were hunched, his head aimed low to the ground, as if he was ashamed… defeated.

 _Accepting_.

Cold realisation clued her in: they’d taken him away and he’d _known_ they were coming. What had he done? And what did she do with that? With the yawning chasm widening inside her, with the fear?

The _echo_ left behind in his wake was already evident. The memories already bleeding into the white walls- the nothing surrounding her. The last 6 years of her life already threatening to fade.

Mouth open, eyes unblinking; numbness seeped in.

She knew what this was.

She just didn’t _believe_.

Almost childlike, she reached for understanding - her hand literally lifting to paw at the air for that arm to touch or sleeve to grab onto - for someone to correct this reality for her. “What’s going on?”

There was nobody there.

She heard her own voice as if coming from a great distance: the way it sounded, how it _tilted_ as if she were falling to the floor alongside it and maybe she was. Maybe that was why her vision had darkened at the edges, her peripherals obscured. Vision tunnelling to the man now out of view. _This can’t be happening_. It was impossible. They’d made sure to cover their tracks, _especially_ lately.

People leaving, leaving, _leaving_ : they’d had to be safe, _we have been_.

This wasn’t _supposed_ to happen.

It couldn’t be real: it was unthinkable that Oliver could forever have a criminal record flag up whenever anybody did so much as a background search on him. It wasn’t-

_It isn’t fair._

It never was. How many times had she heard the victims in Star City say that or the criminals who don’t want to pay penance for the sins? They were never supposed to fall on either side of that coin. But he’d always be known now as the vigilante in the green hood. His life as he knew it was over forever. No take backs, no wishful thinking, no looking to the bright side of things. The FBI knew, which meant he SCPD would too. The government. The civilians. Everyone. He’d never know peace again. He’d never-

_“One day… I can imagine putting up the hood. Having a… a life. One day. I can see it. And I’ll never be able to if I go to trial.”_

-He’d never have that life.

The life he’d mentioned to her over coffee mornings, sandwich lunches, ice cream afternoons and dim sum nights; the one where he _isn’t_ wearing green leather. And there’s someone waiting for him at home - a house or place that’s _his_ to change and nurture and build upon - someone who _loves_ him. She could picture it so clearly, wanted that for him more than she wanted it for herself. _He deserves to have that._

And maybe there’s the patter of tiny sized feet and the happy bark of a dog. There might even be room at the table for his IT girl and best friend, who’d be the one to destroy their pasts when the time came to walk away.

That was her purpose: to keep him safe. To make sure that happy possibility remained possible.

_I have failed Oliver Queen._

Yes, they had a mission. _Yes_ , their priority was to the city, to subvert a law system that only seemed to aid the criminal and not the victim; but what was the _point_ when he couldn’t have anything for himself? When they couldn’t have a life worth fighting for at the end of it all? Of _course_ she’d been careful: she always was because she wanted him to be happy, _finally_.

Focusing on him like that was understandable after all the time they’d spent together; the way she’d watched him become a man who at _least_ deserved all the good things and all the bright places.

 _He did the same for me_ : he made her better. A better person, a braver friend. Each smile they wore had been earned, held a wealth of history and meaning behind it. And it had just been them two for months. Fighting the good fight. Alone, but together.

Hating, _loving_ , every second.

Maybe there’d been something wrong with them. Maybe they’d missed this nightmare because they’d been taken in by their own press… except, their skills and successes weren’t simply hearsay and the acceptance in him just now, the way he’d dodged her gaze as he’d walked past her after she’d clambered in - eyes wretched and darkened with the kind of internal grief she associated with death, as if he was feeling the demise of his own life - told her this had been just as much planned as their efforts against Slade years ago.

_How could he?_

How could he have kept this from her? How could she have missed it? She knew him well enough, didn’t she?

He’d taken it out of her hands, of _course_ \- but she could have _done_ something: how could he take that away from her, remove her from the equation like that? _Protect_ her. It was fair. _I don’t need protecting._ She never had. It wasn’t just him. It was _them_ , right?

Though the team had split, though all of them - one by one - had left for their own reasons, they’d come back together for this. For Diaz. But that didn’t mean that the past was in the past or that bygones were bygones: it just meant that they were all adults. That they held a history worth paying respect to.

So why was Oliver the only one being taken away in cuffs? _Why just him?_ Why him at all?

Why was nobody _doing_ anything?

Nobody being the group sitting - standing, leaning, crouching - down the hall to her left, immovable.

Desolate.

_Tough. Get up. G-_

“Guys.” It ached to speak for some reason and it was more breath than voice, though it felt like she screamed it out. “ _Guys_!”

No one answered her.

Did it even matter if they did? What would it change: Oliver would still be in cuffs.

“ _No_.” There was always a choice and what mattered was that- _no one’s doing anything_.

And her eyes were fixed on what was always the last point of her focus: Oliver’s back, even as it left her sight.

One she’d sat, stood, and worked behind as he’d exercised on the mats. As he’d pummelled training dummies. As he’d flexed his masterful archery skills. As he’d spoken to her over sharpening his arrows during the slower nights. As he’d paced to and fro as he waited for her to provide him with exactly what he needed, _precisely_ when he needed it. She was good at that, took pride in it. She’d earned that too.

And it was ending now. That perfect, _perfect_ point in her life… it was going away.

Six. Years.

Once - when Laurel and Sara had circled his heart, when his mother was still alive and Roy was still his protégé - Oliver had told her that he believed he deserved death. For all his supposed wrongs - for the killing when he’d first returned, for the crimes accrued before and since then; the sins of others piled high on his shoulders as men and women who should know better than demand someone else pay, demand that _he_ pay for the way their lives had shaped - Oliver saw this, now, as justice.

Recompense.

Jail was just a step up.

And they were all letting him go. Letting him take that fall. They were-

No.

_No._

Storming towards them all - ignoring an acute pain that was beginning to grip her stomach - Felicity pointed behind her as she made to yell, and they all knew that she was indicating to the turn of the corridor, down where the city’s hero had just vanished. “What is this?” She knew it was inept, knew it sounded ridiculous; she already understood everything she needed to know - they all knew exactly what was happening - but something inside her couldn’t accept it as real. “What are they doing? Where are they taking him?” And yes, her voice was rising - her extremities numb - and there was anger there, circled by a crippling fear that she couldn’t get away from. “Why is- why are you all just…”

_Doing nothing?_

Mouth opening, closing, gulping in air - looking back to where she’d been stood, as if expecting to see herself still stood there as universes collided and folded in on themselves - head shaking helplessly, _there has to be an alternative_ , and her hand lifted, flapping at them all. “ _Well_?”

It came out as a sob, right from her gut.

It was telling and some might think her overly emotional and she _didn’t_ care, but it was strange that it hit her so sharply _now_ how by herself she was. Oliver had always been right there, at her side or to her front; taking charge. But now, she was alone. Maybe… maybe she _would_ be alone for a very long time, starting right here: this moment.

 _Oh… oh my god_. Bile hit the back of her throat and her mouth shut. It seeped in like poison and she might have made a noise as nausea heaped on top of nausea. _If this is real, then-_

“They just came for him.”

Sucking in a breath, she whipped around: the mutter came from behind a pair of large hands that used to bring a sense of safety and comfort but now only reminded her that even the people you love the most can change. It really was a lie that people didn’t: it was the past that never altered; not the people it belonged to.

“He said he did it to get Diaz and… and to keep everyone safe.” The pause sounded painful and Dig didn’t hide that pain; but what was pain on any day of the week ending Y? _Been there, done that, worn the ugly t-shirt; specifics John._ She needed information. She needed a plan. “He said to look after each other.”

Of course he said that: it was Oliver ‘guilt-arrow’ Queen making his scheduled appearance, but-

“I can’t even process that.”

 _Rene_. He sounded bleak, but Felicity couldn’t pull away from the panic that was starting to grow inside her to feel anything for him beyond frustration because he _still_ standing there and doing nothing.

“Which part?” Finally dragging his palms off his face, John’s fingers came together at his chin and he sent Rene a look of eerie calm weighed down with a wretchedness that wasn’t enough for her. _Action_. She wanted action. “Oliver going to prison?” It looked like his muscles were atrophying or being pulled down by one of those large magnets; as if reality was dragging at him. “Being told to go back to our lives and forget about it all?”

“All of it.” Rene’s throat flexed. “I mean, how can we?”

Shifting where she’d been stood, Dinah kept sedentary outside of the hospital room where both Laurels’ were sleeping; one tied down and sedated, the other unconscious after a head injury. “Sans our masks.” Letting out a breath, it sounded more like a cannonball had been hurled into her gut. “And everything that comes with it.”

Looking more and more miserable, Rene regarded her. “What?”

“It means going back to our lives and putting away our masks.” A hand flickered to the door where the women slept. “And letting the _doppleganger_ stay.” She shook her head. “It’s asking too much.”

Even though Detective Lance might have wanted it that way.

But Felicity wasn’t there yet. _It was asking too much before they came for Oliver_. Don’t draw the line after the fact. She _couldn’t_ care about Dinah’s moral conundrum, or Rene’s anguish or Diggle’s sadness. “So, you all just sat here while he was being carted off?”

It wasn’t a question: it was flat out judgement and it made her feel, if possible, sicker. Since when did she do that? She hadn’t even done that when they all left, one by one. It left the worst taste in her mouth: a vile mix of disappointment, disbelief and distrust. The three D’s.

They broke relationships.

With his hands atop his head, Curtis sent her a look that was equal parts shamefaced and betrayed. “What were we supposed to do? They’re the FBI!”

“I hack the FBI on a weekly basis.” _Remember?_ It hadn’t been so long since they’d been on the same team for him to forget just exactly what she could do and how good she was at doing it. “If I’m not hacking them, then I’m hacking Iron Heights or the NSA, you know as I piggyback off of Wayne Industries satellite? And that’s just off the top of my head.” Tone flat, though still high - panicky - she knew this wasn’t going to get them anywhere and that, realistically, they couldn’t have done a thing, but it didn’t matter just then. Oliver did. And no one had stopped him from going.

He’d seen no one rush to his aid. There’d been no one by his side, ready to walk with him down that lonely stretch of the hospital; his own green mile.

 _Why wasn’t I here?_ She’d been on the phone to her contacts - and to Alena - rustling some cages, formulating plans. Black Siren’s ridiculous stunt had cost them Diaz, but there was always a way around that.

She’d been coming upstairs with the good news: a lead that Cayden James, in death, had left for her. _Good news_. It felt like a joke now.

“Okay, so…” _take a breath; you can fix this_ , “they took him.” Face facts, even though it made her organs feel like they’d been hacked at. “But we were working with them on the basis that we’d help them catch Diaz, right?” She could have screamed at the lack of energy in the area: they all looked done in and she got it, she _really_ did; but they weren’t the ones in cuffs. “Well, we _haven’t_ caught him. They took Oliver away before the job could get done: it’s a breach of contract!” Except they’d never signed one but, _talk about itchy trigger fingers_. “What, they couldn’t hold onto their wads long enough?” _I’m told it’s a problem in middle aged men- quoting Speed right now isn’t helping!_

But they were supposed to watch it together: her and Oliver, when they next caught a break. That and every other film he’d never seen before because he’d either been too busy getting drunk, laid, being ship wrecked, hunting criminals or trying to survive since he was sixteen years old.

And now he was-

“Hey!” Defeat reeked in the air - _look alive people -_ their lacklustre response pushing Felicity to her ever-loving limit. “This isn’t over; what the hell are you all doing?”

“It didn’t seem to matter to them.” _John_. Lips pressing together, she turned just enough to see him as she moved. “They have enough information on us that- Felicity.” Saying her name that way caught her attention from the furious pacing she was doing; as if John could still tell how close to the edge she was and when she was about to lose it. “Even if we catch Diaz anyway, it’s not going to make them give Oliver back.”

 _Don’t you dare_. “But-”

“They wanted the vigilante who started it all.” The vigilante… who started it all. Her mouth was open, catching flies. “They’ve got him. They’re not letting him go.” Dig shook his head once; big brown eyes taking in her stare and misreading it in his moment of painfully obtuse wisdom. “Not for anything less than _all_ of us stepping up. And what would that accomplish? All of us in prison at the same time? No, they got who they came for.”

“We could share cells.” Rene joked, unsmiling.

 _Too right._ Put her in a cell right next to his.

But she was stuck, her brain on pause because-

The vigilante who started it all.

The vigilante who started it all.

The vigilante who _started_ it all?

Not, _the man who saved the city_. Not, _my best friend._ Not, _the one who gave me direction after being so lost_. Not, _the hero called the Green Arrow._ Not, _they wanted the legend: the man who brought us together, Overwatch and Spartan, right at the start. They wanted Arrow._

As if the Arrow had ever been just one person. It had been three. They’d helped make him into a symbol. It was as much her and John’s responsibility as it was Oliver’s.

Even though it had become two: just her and Oliver. After Diggle had left them. On New Year’s Day.

The ‘vigilante who started it all’ was a stranger. From Dig’s words, if she didn’t know him, she wouldn’t have been able to guess the bond he’d once shared with that _vigilante_ and vigilante sounded too much like _criminal_ in her head and to her ears and they’d put enough of those behind bars to know the difference. So why was John deliberately putting up a wall between himself and the last 6 years?

It had started with the three of them. _Suck it up, be a man, admit your part_ – she could shout until her own ears bleed because it should never have been just Oliver.

“It should be us.” She whispered up at him; searching for the same guy who’d told her once upon a time ago that sometimes even Oliver needed help; that even this very violent, very strong man needed people like her to save him. She looked for the man who’d told her in that first year, that after a long time of questioning his own morality, Oliver had made him feel ‘good’ again. “It should be the _three_ of us going to jail, together.” She was weirdly comforted with the idea: they’d all known once upon a time, that it could end with them all in a cell… but John was already giving her the silent _no_ and he could go straight to hell. “We should be right there with him John, not here. Not on the outside-”

Looking in through the bars.

Separated.

“Felicity,” and it was slow, his pause, “this was Oliver’s choice.”

As if the reminder was meant to stop her and it was laughable how he thought it was even close to a relevant point in this. Didn’t he know her at all?

Didn’t he care enough to _not_ fight her on this?

“Oliver has made choices _before_ that allow him to fall on the swords of others and we have never simply let him do that!” Was that _her_ shouting? It didn’t sound like her, this desperate demand for justice she was throwing at her once partner in crime. _Literal_ crime. “He’s sacrificing himself for _us_ : it’s different and you know it!”

That was what Oliver was doing. Taking the fall for each mask in the room. For their Overwatch. For Rene’s daughter. For John’s son. For Dinah’s faith. For Laurel’s loss. For Quentin.

For the city.

He’d done it before: he’d tried to fall thinking it would repair the things he broke or balance out the bad with what he thought was some good. And each time, she and John had been right there; ready and willing to pull him back and show him the truth in his dark narrative. The light in his nightmare. The real in the lie.

But he hadn’t survived on an island for years with hostile forces on all sides, hadn’t been held hostage by a corrupt section of the government, hadn’t found himself in the darker parts of Russia, only to be imprisoned for god knew how many more.

His father hadn’t killed himself so that Oliver would one day spend the rest of his life in prison. His mother hadn’t died to save her children only for her eldest to be incarcerated at the end of it all.

A year ago, Oliver hadn’t killed Tommy just so he could throw the rest of his painful life away now.

Quentin Lance hadn’t died after Lian Yu, hadn’t believed in him, so that Oliver could rot in cell.

 _I didn’t stay with him to let the worst happen to him_. The revolt in her gut told her to set off the fire alarm. Start an actual fire. Do something that made it impossible for Oliver to leave the building - though he’d probably already been taken from it - and they could figure it out as they go after that, like they always had. _We did a good job too_ : like Bonnie and Clyde, except her Clyde was a loner in the field and Felicity preferred being tethered to her computer but the point remained. They’d excelled at fielding the law as they carried it out with a level of aplomb and expertise that felt devoid in the SCPD, which was, especially in this moment, the most horrifying irony.

It had been worth it. Saving a city hell bent on destroying itself, giving the civilians who live in it hope amidst their corruptible neighbours; it was worth the price of sleepless night and, more importantly, trusted comrades.

Yet, looking around at them - those precious friends and allies, seeing the truth in their faces: the guilt, the raw ache, the lack of passion, and weary resignation - the frustration inside her grew too large to contain.

“I can’t believe you’re all just sitting here.” Spoken through clenched teeth - her fingers curling into her palms - Felicity forced them all to look her in the eye. “Even after everything, I can’t believe you’d just accept this.”

Rene rounded on her. “You think this is us accepting things?”

Arms lifting, her eyes widened in dramatic emphasis. “Uh,” she waved her hands towards the very _docile_ looking gang, “yeah; pretty much!”

And like the true tough guy he was - _give me a moment to gag_ \- Rene took a step closer, itching for a fight; that way to vent some of the frustration he was feeling. Frustration? _Try rage, cupcake_. “What is it you think we could have done, huh?”

“Anything but what you did.”

Looking like he’d rather swallow broken glass than admit they’d all stood there as their ex-leader had taken on the weight of their secrets, Rene’s throat moved; neck clenched, teeth a visible imprint behind his lips… still defeated. There was little passion there. “How could we? I have a daughter to think about. I couldn’t…” Trailing off, it sounded weak coming from the man who’d demanded a whole lot more from Oliver.

Well he’d given to him, hadn’t he? “And Oliver _doesn’t_ have a son?”

The not-really-a-question-response had Rene stare at her like he’d never seen her before: as if having the audacity to speak the truth was taking it ten steps too far and how dare she?

Very easily.

In Felicity’s head it went a little differently: all of them standing against the FBI and making it impossible to take him away. Presenting a unified front to the media: the masked vigilante’s out-crying and beseeching to the masses - the victims they’d helped - to nullify any anti-vigilante referendum, and to stand against an unfair law.

 _Did_ a law exist that took into account violence committed as an acknowledged vigilante who the public and police force has openly trusted and partnered with against dangerous enemies that threatened the equanimity of the city in the past? They’d have to bring in the entirety of the SCPD for a full internal investigation: both past and present employees. They’d have to strip down every single closed case, scrutinize every judge, every lawyer, every mayoral candidate and official representative affiliated. Interview every civilian affiliated in some way. The money, the time involved - the sheer scale of the man hunt, the fact that the government had ignored Starling/Star City’s requests for aid in the years past; leaving it to an unknown green archer to save their lives and then coming to arrest that man for doing exactly what they’d forced him to do - it could crucify all basis behind the court of law in its entirety - a judicial system that didn’t work in a city lauded for it - every man and woman involved and dismantle the control the judicial system held over the city.

And finally, given how she had stored every single solved case, every criminal element, every dirty little secret; she could have easily bought him immunity.

They – all of them – could have made it a mission impossible for Agent Watson to take Oliver in, with her quest for fame and glory because why else does a person aim against a man who spent his nights hunting down and beating criminals who escape judgement to a pulp with his bare hands?

It would have been easy, _so easy_ , for Felicity to catch Watson out if she even tried to use their loved ones against them. _Imagine selling that to press, to the public_.

Instead, Rene - all of them - had decided that the risk wasn’t worth the rewards: that Oliver’s life was forfeit in place of his own.

But hadn’t they become masks precisely because they were willing to risk what needed to be done to do the right thing by the city? Since when was the city no longer worth the price? Since when was _Oliver’s_ life suddenly worth less than theirs? Since when was he the scapegoat for the rest of them?

“It’s _okay_ for Oliver to sacrifice his life because you won’t, I get it.” She didn’t. They’d all made a promise and her words served to remind Rene of that. “But I would have found a way to protect Zoe.” She told him: her voice a low challenge. _Remember what you used to stand for_. “You’ve seen what I can do; you know I would have.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

 _Weak_. “Yes, I do.” Weak reasoning, weak hearted. _Weaker_. “But no matter what, I wouldn’t have done what _you_ did: I wouldn’t have let Oliver go on thinking that everything was fine for months while I waited for him to be taken to trial-”

Exactly like a Wild Dog, Rene- near-snared. “ _Don’t_ -”

“-In silence right until the moment where I take to the stand and betray him in front of a packed court room-”

“You know, Oliver is not this Knight you’re making him out to be.” The shout – his desperate tangent – was a clear distraction for him, as if it still bothered him that Oliver had been angry enough at his duplicity to kick him out. _Oh, poor baby; have a sucker_. “Don’t paint this picture of him that doesn’t exist. He’s a self-aggrandising jackass: do as I say, not as I do-”

“Are you kidding me right now? He’s taken away but you’re still pissed because _daddy_ didn’t see you as an equal?” The laugh that poured out of her was like a poison: ugly, devoid of kindness and full of panic. “That’s it? That’s all it takes to abandon him?”

“I didn’t abandon him. He stopped trusting us. _He_ broke faith with _us_.” Skin stretching over the tautened muscles of his jaw line, Rene spoke in absolutes. _How sith of him_. “He didn’t respect what I stood for.”

“You didn’t earn that respect, Rene!” Her loud voice was abrupt enough to make him flinch. “But please tell me: what _do_ you stand for, because in the months since you _all_ left and saddled Oliver with Diaz, with a rising crime rate, with a new drug epidemic; you’ve done nothing to contribute to stemming that tide of violence and I know because big sister,” she slapped her chest with the pain of her hand, “ _me_ , has been watching every _single_ day.” Waiting for them to step up, to prove their own beliefs, to show Oliver and herself that their ideal was just as important as theirs.

And they hadn’t.

The silence fell upon her like a blanket: Rene’s open mouth formed around furious words… but his voice failed him. And as his brain clued in – as he realised the shameful truth of her words – the aggression in his gaze seeped out and it was as if she was suddenly too dreadful – to real – to look at any more. The truth hurts.

 _Good_.

But she knew that better than all of them.

Past the realisation that were on their own - that after everything that had happened, their team didn’t think very highly of them for whatever reason - the level of exhaustion she and Oliver had maintained since New Year’s Day, had reached a level of unreal that she hadn’t thought was possible for them. But they’d had to try because they still believed. They still saw results in their own actions and a good result was a strip of hope, unlimited energy, a worthy reason. It had taken weeks for them to re-find a rhythm; especially after a team of 6 and sometimes 7 are rapidly abridged to 2. And how do you even do that? How do you compensate for that kind of absence?

Well, they’d realised that… they kind of never truly had to.

When Oliver started all of this, he’d been alone. Sure, there’d been some holes in his logic, which was why he’d brought in Diggle, then herself. They’d worked exceedingly well as a unit of three. Others came and went out of choice, not necessity. And while having John at his back had helped considerably in terms of speed, Oliver hadn’t brought him on initially to watch his six.

 _“I think I’d needed- I’d wanted to reach out.” Breathing in deep, batons down at his sides; arms lax for the first time in over half an hour, Oliver told her another of his little secrets. “I hadn’t known how much of that was about validation.” Another long pant. “About not wanting to_ choose _to be alone, until I…” Gaze dropping down, he watched his own fingers clench and unclench around wood._

_Head tilted, feet tucked under her butt on her chair, Felicity’s eyes trailed over the sweat on his brow that clung to his hair, to his throat. “Until you what?”_

_Chest lifting, falling, he spared her a glance as he lifted one baton to point in her direction. “Until I walked into your office.” Sighing, licking salted lips, he lowered the baton. “I had to see a person as a person before I could invite one in.” An odd little gesture moved his head and made his gaze shift. “Or that’s what I tell myself.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_Oliver didn’t shrug like other people: his eyes or his head spoke for him. “Not sure.”_

_That felt like a dismissal._

_Then he’d peered at her side-on and, seeing her arched brow, gave her the tiniest of winks before striding past her desk towards the bench where his towel and leathers sat; making her grin as the alarm on her surveillance drone started to whir again. “We’re up!”_

_“Then talk me in.”_

In the months since the team’s split, the two of them had become the type of well-oiled machine they hadn’t even been during the summer they’d promised to fill in for an AWOL Dig and a hospitalised Laurel. But it had come at a price: time. Sleep. Rest. Peace.

Dreams, shattered.

Hope: _that took a hit too_.

The fact that they’d managed to find an odd happiness in the chasm of worries and bruises and danger zones was irrelevant: Dinah, Rene, Curtis and John, they’d all wiped their hands clean of them both and the mission whilst contradictorily sprouting their belief in it. Taking credit – finding time for cutsie sleepovers, for hour’s long debates at how much Oliver Queen sucked, for 9 – 5 jobs that paid them for their half-assed service, for baby-sitting and dates and _fun_ – whilst doing none of the work.

She and Oliver were lucky if they could grab a cup of coffee before being called into action.

She’d understood why they’d left, why Dinah had seen their intrusion of her personal space - installing cameras to spy on them - as a betrayal of trust, why Curtis had suffered from disillusionment and why Rene had… why Rene had chosen to sulk at Oliver’s understandable lack of faith in him.

However, over time it had become clear that they used these feelings to maintain the chasm rather than simply admit to wanting to remain apart: they liked being solitary vigilantes beholden to no one – free as birds – which meant they’d never understood what they’d been doing in the first place.

 _We can never be free_. They _were_ beholden to something: the city. By walking away, they’d abandoned it.

So over time, her empathy waned; her understanding cut short by a drilling impatience and disappointment in them for the way they’d treated Oliver and for every time she saw him affected by it; for the way they’d _continued_ to blame him for things out of his control from then on. For the way they’d left him wide open for an obsessed enemy to make Oliver’s life harder than it had ever been. For the way they chose to forget how much he’d done for all of them once upon a time: he’d given Rene a place to grow and to become more; he’d all but given him back his daughter, a job and a purpose. He’d given Dinah a positive way to vent her anger and a place to call home; he’d given her a reason to let go of her darkness.

He’d accepted Curtis just because Felicity asked him to, because of his faith in her.

What had they given Oliver back that wasn’t scorn, judgement and hypocrisy?

And John- _John_.

She couldn’t think about that, not here. Not now. It was too much, too painful and Oliver deserved more than to have her distracted.

It all lead right here, to this moment: she was _judging_ them now and she hated that she was, because she’d never let herself before. It wasn’t in her nature. That kind of perception could change a person, could twist and entwine you into a bitter slide. It closed people off to hope and love and trust. But she couldn’t help it: they’d hurt her too and they hadn’t… they hadn’t _noticed_. Or they thought they were entitled enough to think they didn’t have care. That was beyond her understanding.

That she found them lacking in every single way, she knew was exacerbated by this. They were good people.

…They were good people who’d decided they were worth more than the life of the man who’d given them all a purpose and a place to call home; than the man who’d spent 6 years serving a city that didn’t know who he was, that had never thanked him.

 _“We never did this to be thanked, Oliver.”_ She’d told him once in a gentle whisper after another finger was aimed his way.

She regretted saying such hollow words now.

He’d deserved more. He’d deserved _better_.

“That isn’t fair.” _Case in point_. Ever the skewed mix of tolerance and righteousness, Dinah spoke from a place Felicity could tell that the woman thought was compassionate. “We did our part-”

She rounded on her because, _what the frack?_ “Since when is ‘your part’ ever done?” Confusion made her look at Dinah like she had a hot dog for a head instead of perfect skin, big brown eyes and those large, immaculate curls that never seemed to tire. “Do you think there’s a chart, a level you can reach, say ‘job well done’ and then just walk away?” If she did, the bar was indeed low. “We are _never_ finished Dinah.” The idea, the mission, was that the job was never done. As long as there was criminality, injustice and evil; there would always be the Green Arrow and Overwatch. “The mask was never just a way to hide your face: it was a symbol.” A symbol Oliver had created; one he’d devoted himself to. “To become more, to be what is needed. The _city_ needed someone. Then Oliver came: someone committed to helping right wrongs in the absence of a fair judicial system and respectable police force,” she didn’t care if she sounded embarrassingly like a cheerleader – waxing sentimentality – because it was the truth, “because all it takes for evil to prevail is for good men and women to do nothing. Guess what you just did.” It tasted strongly of tears, betrayal and sanctimonious indignation. She was being- no, she _wasn’t_ being unfair. She just wasn’t making allowances. And that wasn’t like her. “You did nothing. You’ve been _doing_ a whole bunch of nothing for months. Whatever you want to tell yourselves,” her eyes went to each and every one of them, taking in how they stared at her; dumbfounded, injured and angry, “to feel better about letting the man who has saved this city over and _over_ again, who has sacrificed everything for it, be taken away without a fight.” It shook through her, the anger; colouring her words, deepening her voice. “You have failed this city.”

“I’d step down of that high horse Felicity.” Not seeing how close to the edge she was, Curtis opened his big mouth. “It’s lonely territory.”

It took everything she had not to punch him in the face. Not to sob snot, not to throw up. “When all the people you thought so highly of are suddenly _that_ low to the ground then, yes: it is.”

“ _That’s_ what you think of us?” Curtis whispered.

“Oliver chose, Felicity.” Normally, the depth of Dig’s voice was a comfort. Now, as he stepped in beside Curtis, it felt like bars. “He chose one way,” and then he pointed to the rest of them as though they all made this grand team that Diggle had been waiting years to see, “we chose another.”

“Oliver didn’t choose anything!” Whirling to Dig, she sent him the same disbelief and censure she felt for them all. “All he did was become exactly what you told him he could – should – become for _years_.” She pressed, taking a step towards him. “A father, a friend, a hero and a _good_ man. The moment he didn’t need you as that guide, you turned your back on him. Found fault in _every_ single one of his actions.” _Why?_ “You blamed him for all of _your_ short comings.”

Exactly like Rene, Dig’s throat tightened, lips thinning. “That wasn’t even close to what happened.”

“It is _exactly_ what happened. I know, because I was _there_!” She shouted at him before he could interrupt her. “Do you remember that? How I asked you to stay, just to _talk_ to me and how you out-rightly refused to listen to anything because you’d already decided to go. You’d already decided that you wanted out, damn who you crushed along the way.” _Like me_. When he’d walked past her as if her voice didn’t reach him, as if nothing she said mattered because he’d already had it out with Oliver and she was simply collateral damage. He had no idea what that had done to her because he hadn’t tried to find out. “I was the only one there when he asked me why everyone was leaving him.” A flinch. _Finally,_ a response worthy of the once best friend of the Green Arrow. “Why, after doing everything you wanted him to do, the way it had to be done - after doing the _right_ things - were people choosing to hate him for it.” Her finger came up: an accusation and a demand as she dug it into the solid pectoral in her line of sight. “How was it his fault that Quentin died? Didn’t matter; Laurel hasn’t spoken to him properly since Lian Yu because of it and _‘following you all these years has led to nothing but pain for me and my family’_ isn’t what I’d call a logical assessment from a woman who has continuously run towards danger ever since hearing that the man behind the mask was the love of her life and never listened to a word said to her, but please: blame the obvious choice.” Speaking so quickly - so much to say, so little time to say the things she’d never allowed herself to even think before - she did so without looking away from a man she missed like a severed limb, because he needed to see the truth in her eyes. “Rene chose to betray him and not say a word; how was it Oliver’s fault that he reacted in anger to that? How was his fault that Siren killed Vincent? Didn’t matter, Dinah blamed him for not getting there in time- you did.” She added, casting a glance past Dig when she saw that the woman in question had opened her mouth. “You blamed him for that, for weeks.” Weeks in which Oliver had barely slept. “And how was it his fault that Curtis lost Paul, how was it his fault that _you_ \- the man who was supposed to stand with him on the best and worst days of his life - changed your mind about him, about what we’ve worked for over half a decade and decided that every decision ever made by Oliver over the years, were all bad ones?” Another POKE to his ridiculous chest. “Even the good ones,” _POKE_ , “even the ones _you_ helped him make.” _JAB_. “Suddenly, Oliver is a bad leader. A bad hero. You- _you_ were never supposed to forget that Oliver’s also human.” Poke, poke, _poke_! “Out of all of us, the man who preached to Oliver that he couldn’t be only a mask instead of a man, was never supposed to forget how hard he’s tried to reach those expectations. You were his role model. But you took a step back and looked at him through scared eyes, a selective memory and decided to make damn sure that no matter how hard he tries, he will never get it right.”

Because in doing so, Diggle had someone to blame. A continuous source. For life.

_“What did I do?”_

_Helpless, clueless, she sat down next to him on the group of steps leading up to her computers. “You didn’t do anything wrong Oliver.”_

_Jaw still bruised from one of Diggle’s punches - she wondered when she could look at it without a lick of nausea in her stomach - his face creased. “Then why are they against me?” Begging for understanding, his disheartened gaze meeting hers. “What changed?”_

_A sigh as heavy as the weight on his back left her. “You did.”_

_Frowning - worn eyes tapering in confusion - he shook his head at her, twisted slightly towards her, opening his mouth-_

_“You became everything everyone wanted you to be.” Placing a hand on his shoulder, she let it travel a little to the back of his neck. “It’s just… sometimes people don’t like what they ask for. They don’t like the change.”_ Be careful what you wish for _. “They don’t know how to adapt. What you are? It’s breath-taking.” Shaking her head and smiling sadly at the way that seemed to throw him, her fingers pressed into his skin in silent comfort as they looked at each other. “But it makes people see their own faults more easily. The places where they_ haven’t _grown. Especially with the way you leave no room for error anymore. For distrust.”_

_Ever more perplexed, it flickered threw his expression; shadowed by the self-blame there. “I thought they could take it.” Take being people worthy of trust, of being masks that could take the weight of protecting the city and committing adherence to a belief system that he’d thought had been worth it._

_“It definitely wasn’t too much to ask.” She breathed._

_Head lowering, coming to some sort of hidden conclusion, Oliver’s sigh was deep. “Clearly it was.”_

_Shirking her touch, not unkindly, he stood up and strode away. Determined._

_Wounded._

Alone.

Every word, every accusation from her looked like a lash on Dig’s face; but it seemed more like he resented the reminder and she couldn’t figure out if that really was what it was when all she could see was red. “Standing beside Oliver…” his throat moved with a swallow. “I saw what I could lose. I made my choice. I chose family.”

“ _We_ were your family!” Slapping her chest once more, her eyes welling up - _oh my god_ \- genuine pain echoed through her ribcage because he’d confirmed it. Her fear. He was supposed to be her _brother_. You _could_ forsake that but, since when was John of all people, like her _father_? “We love you. We’ve fought wars with you.” Metaphorical and literal. “We’ve baby-sat for you. We hunted your brother’s killer, stood beside you against Hive- Lyla’s my friend. You _told_ me we were family.” In all the ways that mattered: through words and actions and feelings.

When had that died in him?

“Felicity…” it was sort of gratifying to see that she was hurting him too: his own eyes no longer dry, regret a constant on his face.

“You made the choice to join Oliver all those years ago. You made the choice to stay. You made the choice to become Spartan. _You_ chose to protect the city.” It was like hammering on the head of a nail, and she couldn’t stop. “Oliver gave you an out when you married Lyla, when she got pregnant and you said no. He got you out of prison-”

“I _never_ asked him to do that!”

“ _You never had to because that’s what family does for each other John_! They have each other’s back’s. God.” Voice dropping, softening in defeat; she blinked back tears. Her stare was no longer entreating. It was disbelieving. She never thought she’d lose faith, not in John Diggle. Her Knight in Shining Armour. The man who’d told Oliver _you are not alone_. Who’d stood with them against Slade and his army of psychopathic enhanced soldiers, who’d taken over for an exhausted Oliver for three months after he’d stopped the League of Assassin’s from making the city their playground. The man who’d held her tight when they’d thought Oliver had been killed. “It’s like you’ve forgotten.”

“I didn’t forget.” He sounded empty.

Empty was what you receive when you erase what’s important. And what was important, was never easy to maintain.

_“If there’s something I’ve learned over the years Felicity,” sat close, leaning forwards towards her after another one of her sniffle’s, Oliver’s voice felt like a balm, “is that nothing important ever came easy.”_

_“You don’t think I should give up?” On finding happiness. After Greg, Barry, Ray and now Shaun; Felicity wasn’t sure it was worth meeting anyone. Be it time, distance, patience, lack of passion or intolerable differences, the solitary lifestyle felt inevitable._

_A half smile had him glancing down. “I can’t say I’m exactly a role model in this department.” She snorted, making him peer at her the way an uptight straight man would his horn dog, air head sidekick. But he was smiling. “If_ I _haven’t given up, even with what we do,” a finger reached out, stroking a tear off the skin of her cheek and she felt that touch travel slowly through her skin and into her bones, “then you definitely shouldn’t. In our Motley Crew, if anyone deserves to find happiness with someone,” the forever kind, “It’s you.”_

“I’d… I’d had enough.” John said, looking at her like he was hoping she’d understand and _sad_ for her that she couldn’t. “I made a choice.”

“And you did it by blaming Oliver for all your choices prior to that. You washed your hands of him.” _Of me_. “A clean break.”

Head shaking, mouth opening; nothing came out. _See?_ Empty.

Feeling so alone surrounded by them all – wanting the only one who wasn’t there – she took a breath when the world tilted and as it righted herself, twisted on her foot to move down the corridor-

But one last thing reared its ugly head and it spilled out before she could stop it. “You’re behaving like cowards. All of you.” _Don’t look at me like that John_. “For you, a hero means a mask: it comes with addendums and luxuries and you think you can drop it, pin your actions on someone else and pack up whenever you chose, but for Oliver? It’s who he is.” Hands fisting tightly enough for her nails to dig fissures into her skin – it wasn’t enough to push back the maddening, intensifying sadness; the dawning horror threatening to level her to the floor – inside her, the desire to do something _right_ _now_ mixing with the dread that her life was about to change for the absolute worst… and stay that way. “I’m ashamed to death of myself because I persuaded him to give you all the time of day.” Curtis. Rene. Dinah. Laurel, that first time. And she’d pleaded for him to meet up with John, to make amends that he never should have been the one to make. It, of course, had backfired on _him_ ; not her. “He was right: he never needed any of you.” Not in the field: he’d proven that to her the last 5 months. “He’d just wanted you there.” Which, to her, was infinitely more precious. Priceless.

They’d become his family. One by one, his family had turned their backs on him and for what? A few grudges, some personal beefs?

“The thing about what we want the most?” Speaking up, Dinah’s voice was a debilitated mess of its former self. “We don’t always get to have it.” She knew that for sure… except it didn’t fit here.

Smiling, _what does that even mean_ , Felicity muttered. “Don’t I know it.”

“We aren’t like Oliver. I thought… I thought I was very much like him once.” And if Dinah’s tone echoed her history with Oliver – the brief stint where’d they tried and failed to date, and it was probably one of the most hilarious things Felicity had ever watched unfold and fall to the floor – Felicity ignored it because Dinah’s regret sounded too much like entitlement. “But we’re not.”

“Too bad.” And yep; they all pretty much looked like they wanted to string her up to a tree. “But you don’t have to be alike to have respect, to work together, to be true to your words, to put others first; to see that despite his distrust in you,” which must have stung Dinah all the more for the hope she’d once placed in their failed romance, “he was _right_. You never needed to come back Dinah. You just needed to stop blaming him for everything: for your anger, for Vincent- hell, you blamed him for the _trial_ because it shone too much light on _you_ and it would never have been a problem if Mr selfish over there,” Rene, “had opted for honesty.”

“Again, my daughter comes first.” Said man stated in a low, unmoving tone.

She didn’t look at him. “You didn’t say a word for months: I could have destroyed the prosecution with that amount of time. Your silence made this possible.”

“I think,” careful _so_ careful, Dinah’s words left her slowly; as if she knew what she was about to say was almost unforgivable, “that when it comes to Oliver, you will say and believe anything.” Eyes rising from the floor to look at Felicity, it was too easy to see the discomfort in her through the insult she was gently, skilfully, weaving together. “You will always protect him. He used to kill people and you… you were _fine_ with it.” Looking torn between the illusion of insanity she was pinning on Felicity and displeasure that she had to – that she had no other argument to throw at her – Dinah straightened, deciding to side with her own unfairness. “No matter what happens, you will always choose him. I think that someone so biased can’t be the one judging the rest of us.”

It stung. More than stung. “I can’t criticise people who’ve done the wrong things…?” she stated as slowly as Dinah had, except more convincing because her words an attempt to shift the blame. “Not because _I’m_ wrong, but because I’m the only one who gives a crap about him?”

“There’s a difference between caring and this: you’re being self-righteous.”

“Dinah…” Dig muttered, but Felicity didn’t care.

“Self-” she couldn’t believe it enough to finish the words. “Your entire argument is predicated upon the idea that I’m misguided because Oliver is also misguided. And yet every one of your decisions this year has been hell bent upon proving him wrong and failing to do so. You call _me_ self-righteous,” _you hypocrite_ , “and yet demand I see _your_ way without having earned the respect. Maybe if every time you had an alternate point of view, it wasn’t based on trying to break to pieces the moral compass of the man who has sacrificed everything over the years- _maybe_ , I’d be listening to you right now.”

“Maybe,” Dinah quietly, pointed responded, “if I didn’t hear Oliver every time you spoke, I’d _care_ about your opinion.” _Excuse me?_ But Dinah’s second wind, her pride and incapability to accept blame upped her tone from attempted civility to _fuck you_. “Maybe if you weren’t so up his _ass_ , what you’re telling me right now would actually mean something.”

Staring at her - at the woman she’d given a mask to, at another betrayal and letting her see that it was - Felicity had just one question because she knew anything else would bounce off this group. “What’s been accomplished for over half a decade, means nothing?” Though her throat fluxed, Dinah didn’t back down. Regret and pride. “Feel _better_ now, Dinah?”

Immediately - swiftly and guiltily - Dinah’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I know how much you-”

“Don’t. You want to use that as an excuse for the crap you just vomited, then look me in the eye when you say it.”

She didn’t.

The city was going to die, wasn’t it?

“Oliver has protected Star city for six years. I don’t think any of you are ready for what It will be like without him.”

Without anything more to say, Felicity walked away.

No one called for her to come back.

 

**The Devils on your shoulder, the strangers in your head**

**As if you don’t remember, as if you can’t forget**

**It’s only been a moment, it’s only been a lifetime**

**But tonight you’re a stranger, some silhouette**

 

_I don’t think any of you are ready for what it will be like without him._

It was good. It was very good. Having no one to depend on was good.

No one could see her fall to pieces.

_I don’t think any of you are ready for what it will be like without him._

“Get out of the way, out of the way, out of the-” Swerving - pulling hard at the wheel - as a car seemed to pull out of nowhere, she skidded around the next bend in the room. “C-come on!”

She had to get there in time. She had to get there before they took him away forever. She had to say- to do _something_. He was worth at least something.

The unfairness of that, sent a wave of terrified misery through her; making her expression crumple in the rear-view mirror.

_I don’t think any of you are ready for what it will be like without him._

Hands stiff to the wheel - needing the tether - reality didn’t bowl her down here: _that_ had happened outside of the hospital. She’d opened her car door and the memory of Oliver doing that for her that morning and the day before, had all but crushed her to the ground.

The chance that he’d _never_ do it again…

Her throat closed, oesophagus fluxing, wide eyed and straining out a gasp; she choked for air.

 _Life_. They could give him a life sentence. Technically, he’d been a serial killer that first year: Watson absolutely would go that far.

 _How could he choose this first?_ Before coming to her - she could had spirited him away, hidden him outside the city until they had what they needed - before talking to someone, _anyone_ about it.

 _Thea!_ What about Thea? _And William?_

It was something close to grief that made her cry as she drove like a maniac. Cry _hard_. Tears and sweat and snot and a blotchy face - all of it, which was less than he deserved.

 _Why am I the only one heartbroken?_ How could that be possible?

It wasn’t fair of her: she knew Thea was out of the city, knew Laurel was unconscious, knew William was innocent as innocent could be; meaning he didn’t have a clue.

It was just her.

And she wasn’t, hadn’t been, enough.

Maybe it was _because_ she was alone in her car, maybe it was the scene she’d just left, maybe it was something else. Maybe it was all of it.

Her heart was threatening to break and it couldn’t here.

 _It’s his birthday._ He’d turned thirty-three years old at 10am that morning: an easy birth for his mother, from what she’d read. She’d had a cake made for him: lemon with unsweetened buttercream, a fluffy sponge and thin, forest-green icing.

And there was his present, waiting to be unwrapped at the Loft. It was something she’d thought long and hard about, something Oliver could love and keep with him at the bunker as well as at his home. Or during a run. When buying coffee. Acting as the Mayor. He was supposed to open it after all this…

Oliver and Thea hadn’t celebrated their birthdays in years. And now Thea had left, and Felicity had felt it high time to give the older sibling every moment of love she could spare.

_“It just reminds me that they’re not here. And why they’re not here.” Oliver quietly said to his fingers where they were clasped around his coffee. “Thea’s the same. Every time we think about our birthdays…”_

_Sat in front of him in the booth, she hazarded a guess. “It brings up bad memories?”_

_Of their parents. Of the evils that took them._

_His nod was minute; the breath behind it, anything but. “Yes.”_

_“Maybe,” she mulled, “we should try to build some newer, happier memories for you both.”_

_Smiling the smile of the long-suffering, Oliver shook his head: his brow furrowed. “After the year we’ve just had, I don’t see that being anything but impossible.”_

_The year they’d just had._

_It was the final week of May 2017, and Felicity had to admit that the previous seven months had been filled with a whole lot of suck before sinking even further with a bang and a boom. She wasn’t surprised he looked oh_ so _thrilled about her idea…_

 _Two weeks before, Thomas Merlyn had blown up Lian Yu. Literally. With the people Oliver loved and cared for on it._ A hot time on a cold island: _she’d never forget it. Would probably never stop having nightmares about being stuck on a ticking time bomb._

 _But at least she’d been with her family: at least, at the end, when she thought she was going to die, she’d been with her boys._ Not a bad place to be _._

_“That’s all the more reason to try.” When he looked even less convinced, her elbows propped her up on the table to peer into his downcast eyes. “Oliver,” those eyes very slowly lifted to meet hers, “we survived.”_

We survived your once best friend trying to butcher us all.

_It took time for him to form his response. “Some of us didn’t.”_

_It was still a sucker punch, even two weeks later. “…Some of us didn’t.” She repeated in a deflated whisper, because_ Quentin _. Evelyn who, despite her betrayal, was far too young to be so quickly punished for being brainwashed. “But the rest of us did. We need to focus on that.” Focus on the good._

_Something that Oliver had always had trouble doing. “Laurel won’t even look at me,” he admitted; eyes so vulnerable they were a physical whisper on her skin, “never mind talk to me.”_

_She felt that down to her bones. “She doesn’t blame you.”_

_He let out a derisive breath and sent her a look that said she should know better. “She does.” And as Felicity was well aware, Laurel could hold a grudge; could hold onto rancour for a long time. “Out of all of us, she came out of this the worst off.” Did she though? “Quentin died…” throat moving, looking at her, Oliver’s eyes gradually started to redden with the sadness he felt about that. “And Tommy… she wanted to try to bring him back.” To fix the past, an on-going theme with Laurel Lance. “We failed.”_

_“There was never any chance of bringing him back.” Hand moving, the pad of her index finger tapped the back of his hand. “Malcolm did a great job twisting him until he even he couldn’t see the monster he’d created.”_

_Tommy Merlyn had become adept at manipulation. In the beginning he’d convinced an incandescently happy Oliver that he’d returned just to be his friend._

_Blues eyes flickered swiftly away from her, to the window to his right._

_As always, Oliver’s worst enemy was himself._

_“Oliver,” she started quietly and saw his neck flex, “It wasn’t your fault.”_

_“Then why does it feel like it is?” He answered, low toned and deeply affected by what had happened._

_She smiled and felt the sadness of it, the affection in it, shape her words. “Because you want to save everyone, and can’t. Because you missed him and wanted to right a wrong that wasn’t yours to bear. Because you were thinking of Thea and Laurel and what they might want, even though he’d been a nightmare for you. Because Oliver Queen is a good man and-”_

_His larger, warmer, calloused hand covered her own. Her mouth closed._

_“Thank you.” Gruff toned and so quiet, Oliver blinked away whatever she’d inadvertently made rise in him, but he didn’t look away from the window. “I… I know how hard this year was for you too. I wasn’t there for you a lot of the time and because of that…”_

_“Don’t.” Immediately, his head bowed; contrition and regret and_ pain _a visible presence in his expression. “We both invited trouble, and we had a lot to handle.”_

_In targeting Oliver and the people he loved, her latest boyfriend – Billy – had gotten caught in the crossfire. Oliver’s arrow had killed him and for months, Oliver couldn’t look her in the eye. Wouldn’t talk to her about anything outside of the mission._

_It made her miserable enough - beyond grieving the very nice man she’d been having a very sweet and breezy romance with - to find alternate ways of bringing down Tommy after he went dark on them all._

_It was only when she started target practice with firearms that a maddeningly fearful Oliver finally breached the gap to stop her. Their argument cleared out the bunker: they’d shouted at each other; had been brutally honest in ways they hadn’t been since the summer before when Laurel had been in the hospital and Diggle overseas._

_It had ended with her in tears and in his arms. Ice cream. Vodka. He’d been unbearably gentle with remorse…_

_Like now._

_With her free hand, she tapped a finger against the table. “My choice to go to Helix was exactly that: my choice.”_

_“A choice you may not have had to make if I’d been more open with you.”_

_Tilting her head, she arched a brow. “Is this what you’re going to do now? Pile on the blame, because it’s an answer in the absence of one?” After everything Tommy had done and tried to do, his death - suicide - had left a void of unanswered questions. And if there was no one to blame, then where would Laurel and Thea direct their anger? “It might be easier Oliver, but it’ll cause more harm than good. More questions with no answers to satisfy them.”_

_Exhaling, Oliver looked at the table for a time. When a waitress trotted over to offer them more coffee and Oliver declined, he finally spoke. “You’re right. I know you’re right.” Eyes lifting, they searched her face and the corner of his mouth curved. “You look surprised.”_

_“Uh, I- I just never thought I’d hear you say that.”_

_A breathy little hiccup of a laugh highlighted how worn he was just then: the scars left behind still visible on his face as his hands moved to drag over it._

_Watching him, “Dreading your work load?” she surmised, not unkindly, as his hands dropped again._

_He hummed, nodding; hands receding. “That, and my next_ scheduled _,” bunny ears, “conversation with Samantha.”_

Yikes _. She winced in sympathy. “No progress?”_

_Arms lying on the table, he shook his head. “After what happened, I can’t blame her.”_

_“But he’s your son too.” And the woman did not want to try a_ second _time to keep her son away from the truth of his parentage. “You’ve wanted this ever since you found out about him.” Two years._

_Enough waiting._

_“But he might be better off without me in his life.” He caught the_ oh Oliver _on her face. “You can’t deny that, not after what happened…”_

_“No.” She stressed the word. “But.” He waited, looking surreally relaxed with her in this hideaway café she’d recently fallen in love with. “I also wouldn’t deny William the chance to know his father.”_

_And even Oliver couldn’t fight that. “If that’s what he wants.”_

_“Ask him.” She shrugged. “Hey, if you don’t find out, you’ll always wonder.”_

_When he stared at her after hr words for longer than necessary, she blinked at him. “What? Have I got cream on my face?” From the scone she’d inhaled._

_Starting a company was no small feat: undernourishment was a very real threat at this point. But she was determined. She was done sitting there as the CEO’s at Palmer Tech destroy what she’d helped build._

_Pushing out a breath through his teeth, he pressed his lips together after they popped one word. “Nope.”_

_Eyes narrowing, she took him in._ The last time he looked like that… _“Wait, are you gearing up to ask me to be your personal assistant again?”_

_“What?” He blinked. “No-”_

_“Because after what you did with Susan,” leaning back, she brought the remains of her coffee with her, “I’m not sure I can look at your office the same way again.” She eyed him over the rim of her cup. “Idiot.”_

_Not that they’d done anything_ in _his office, but…_

_This time, he grimaced. “It was not my finest hour.”_

_“You were lonely.” The words were soft._

_“So were you.” Stilling at that, she took in the honest look on his face. “But,” he continued, “you didn’t date someone you knew was wrong for you and-”_

_“Start to care for her?”_

_“Trust her.” He amended with a slight dip of his head._

_And because she was curious, she asked. “Why did you?”_

_Inhaling, he looked at her for a long moment before replying. “To resist temptation.”_

_Her brow arched._ Huh?

_But he floated around an answer. He was good at that. “Maybe I just wanted to prove that I could be everything I’d proven I wasn’t to Laurel and Sara…” a breath escaped before he added. “You.”_

_Confusion made her nose crease. “I don’t think I’m part of this equation.”_

_“But you’re my friend,” he firmly stated, “whose opinion I hold in the highest esteem. I ignored your counsel,” and he sounded so full of shame about that, “and then you had to clean up after me.”_

_“You were just trying to have what everyone else seemed to have.”_

_“And what is that?”_

_“A normal life.”_

_“…Look how that turned out.” The exhale he pushed out sounded painful and he spoke in that low toned, husky voice of his. “Come on; you know I’ll never have a normal life. Besides, I knew that Susan wasn’t that person.” Wasn’t the one._

_“Then why did you date her?”_

_“She asked me out.”_

_“What, that’s it?”_

_His eyes quickly shot to his right and back again, looking nonplussed. “Does there need to be another reason?”_

_“Uh, how about that you liked her, wanted to be with her and start a family?”_

_Grimacing,_ whoa; feel the love _, he lifted a hand. “That’s taking it,” Index finger and thumb coming to within a centimetre of each other, his eyes squinted for effect, “a_ little _far, don’t you think?”_

 _“Er, no? Hey,” her palms raised at his expression,_ I plead the fifth _, “I wasn’t the one who decided to trust her over Thea. You were an idiot and guys tend to be idiots for one of two reasons:” she flicked a finger upwards, “either the woman in question is worth being an idiot for, or,” a second finger joined it in front of his reluctant eyes, “she’s so good in bed he’ll ignore her faults.”_

_Smiling flatly at him, she dropped her hand._

_He cleared his throat. “Point taken.”_

_“So she wasn’t a goddess in bed?”_

_He made a face. It was his best deadpan._ Ouch _. She’d feel sorry for Susan if the woman hadn’t been a snake. “And she wasn’t… worth it?”_

 _He slumped._ Clearly not _. “I just… I just wanted to prove that… that she…” he was having trouble._

 _“You wanted to prove,” she unhurriedly filled in his blanks, “that_ you _were redeemable.” It was like he was holding his breath just then, and with the way he looked at her… “And sometimes we can only do that through someone else. If you could prove that Susan, who’d given you every reason to believe she was a morally defunct duck,” as most journalists in the city were, “was someone worth spending time with, then maybe you could prove that Oliver Queen was worthy of the same second glance.”_

_Especially after killing Damien Dhark, after the mess that was his relationship with Laurel, and now, after Tommy…_

_“And it all came to nothing.” He breathed. “You still had to…_ correct _my error in judgement.” To prevent Susan from publishing a story that would reveal his identity to the public for nothing more than a promotion._

 _“I wouldn’t call hope an error in judgement.” He snorted. “Bad taste in women aside,” he sent her a pointed look,_ hey Mr; I have ample evidence to back that up, _“isn’t that what friends do?” The smile became a mischievous grin with a shoulder shuffle. “Take out the trash?”_

_And oh so relaxed, she watched as humour lit him up from the inside. “So, we’re each other’s garbage handlers?”_

_“I think we’ve done a good enough job doing that so far.” It wasn’t untrue: their issues were enormous, but they’d dealt with them._ Sort of _._

_Playing with the sugar cubes, Oliver watched his hands build a moat around a makeshift castle. “Baggage handlers.”_

_Swallowing her coffee, eyebrows rising, Felicity blinked once. “Sorry, what?”_

_Head ducking just a tad, Oliver spoke in his quietest voice yet; but each word was quite clear. “I think we’re each other’s_ baggage _handlers.”_

 _“Baggage handlers.” She said slowly, tasting it on her tongue and realising…_ he’s right _._ That’s what we do _. He knew her baggage quite well: it wasn’t as complex as his, nor as vast; but they held power over her. And in her darkest moments, she’d needed a hand to wade through them. Nine times out of ten, it had been Oliver’s hand. “Yeah.”_

 _And at her_ yeah _, he smiled down at the table. It was a secret smile, a pleased smile. A smile that said he enjoyed the idea because it was the truth, and it was a good truth; something real. Something he didn’t need or want to lie about. “Thank you.”_

_“For?”_

_“For being my best friend.” Finally, he lifted his head; sending her a tired yet real smile. “For not leaving, even when I gave you reason to.”_

_After he killed Damien Dhark, Oliver had reverted. Big time. Diving head first into the mud with the rest of the criminals and tyrants the city kept giving birth to, Oliver had gone on another hunt. A near-to killing spree. He’d had his reasons: Damien Dhark had almost killed the woman he loved and his sister. The only way to stop him had been to kill him, but it shouldn’t have dictated how he handled every criminal he came across henceforth._

_Only, he’d seemed to think it did._

_In the 5 months between then and Tommy’s re-appearance, Felicity had been his solitary companion in the bunker. There had been times where she’d had to consciously reign herself in or choose to either slap him, shout some more, or fuck away the idiocy in him._

_Looking back on it, she was glad she hadn’t succumbed to the latter._

_The fact that she’d had difficulty controlling herself however spoke of how bad it had been at that time._

_But then…_ Tommy _._

_Like a nightmarish reflection, Oliver had thought that Tommy was everything he could have been if even one thing had been different in the ten years since he’d shipwrecked. He thought he was one slip up from becoming a monster. If someone so good, someone like Tommy, could be so corruptible, then what hope was there for someone so dark? Someone who’d chosen to cheat on his girlfriend with her sister, take a joyride on a boat that he was never supposed to be on board, just so that when the time came to survive, his father would then shoot himself in the head because there wasn’t enough food and water for an extra body._

_It wasn’t something he’d told her: she’d surmised this._

_It had taken more than one conversation, plus one heavily alcohol-laden night to convince him that he might be wrong about that. Again, his father was still a topic untouched between them._

_And before that, with the League of Assassin’s or_ now _with Laurel set against them both; with Diggle in traction, with Curtis locking himself away in a dark den to tinker with his toys instead of facing the world again, with Detective Lance’s sudden death, with Dinah trying to step into his shoes at the SCPD and not the mayor’s office with limited results, with Rene in trouble with the legalities involved in taking custody of a child, and with Thea thinking about the future…_

_Thinking about leaving the city for good this time._

_Leaving Oliver-_

_“I told you once before.” She reminded him, straightening in her seat and placing her now empty cup back on the table. “If you’re not leaving-” it slammed into him, the memory; she could tell. Eyes shooting to hers, his inhale was sharp enough to create sound and it lifted his chest; tightening the muscles at his throat: affected. Those blue eyes took ten steps past soft and turned to liquid hope with an unhealthy dose of extreme self-dislike and his lower lip trembled for barely a second before he was biting down on it, “_ I’m _not leaving.” Shaking her head, her own gaze grew a little misty; she had to admit. “That hasn’t changed.” Nor will it._

_And how a man could be so grateful and yet so unhappy with himself in that moment, she didn’t have a clue. “Oh.”_

_She leaned forwards just a tad. “Look at me.”_

_He didn’t._

_“Please Oliver.”_

_Then he did._

_“My choice.” She whispered, pointing at herself. “Please don’t take that away from me.” It was one of her great prides - the best decision she’d ever made - sticking in with the city’s hero and getting a little dirty to save lives. “Okay?”_

_Deep breath in, deep breath out. “You don’t regret it?” It was hesitant, as if he knew her answer. But he looked like he didn’t understand it. Not one bit._

_Silly man. “If I could go back and change anything,” at the risk of the result being so much worse, “I wouldn’t.”_ Yep _. By the expression on his face, he didn’t understand that at all and it made her want to laugh. “I like surprising you.”_

_“It explains why you keep doing it.” But he didn’t sound like he disliked it either. “If you can look at everything and be fine with not changing a thing, then… maybe I can feel a little less guilty.”_

_Head, titling she felt her brow furrow. “About what?”_

_Lips pressing together, he shook his head once. “Secret.”_

_“Secrets need to be solved.” She pretended to tsk at him. “Gimmie.”_

_“Not this one.”_

_Bottom lip sucked into her mouth, her teeth tendered to it. “Is it about me?” She joked and-_

_“Yes.”_

_She faltered, blinked. “What, really?”_

_He nodded, also blinking one, long slow blink. “Mm hm.”_

_Something bloomed in her chest: a titillating, tantalising ache. “Bad thing?”_

_“No.”_

_“Please tell me,” she begged at speed and he huffed a laugh, “I’m really not good with knowing there’s a secret and not being in on it.”_

_He hummed. “That explains a few things.”_

_“Hey!”_

_It had been quite a while since she’d that smile on his face. Her smile. “How about I make it up to you by teaching you how to shoot?”_

_The shock of that simple suggestion almost made her fall out of her chair. “Are you serious?”_

_“Extremely. You made a very good argument for it before.” And a slight amount of regret still haunted his features as he remembered their quarrel in the bunker. “And its… it doesn’t have to be for practical use.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“Practising with my bow or cleaning a weapon, it can be soothing.” Eyes flickering over her face, seeing things she hadn’t, his already soft voice took a turn for tender that’s he wasn’t quite ready for. “You haven’t been sleeping.”_

_Feeling seen - and it was nice in the same way a raw nerve could be when exposed - Felicity pulled back a little. “Likewise.”_

_And he knew what she was doing. His smile told her he did. “Felicity.”_

_Insecure, her arms moved inwards of their own accord; wrapping around herself. “I’m fine.”_

_She was fine, waking up at 2am screaming. And then avoiding sleep because the nightmares just come right on back. And then substituting it with coffee that no longer tasted right to her and donuts that made her feel sick instead of happy._

_The last year had changed her. Everything had changed her._

_And she didn’t want to add that to his burden-laden shoulders._

_“So am I.” He wasn’t and he knew that too, which was the point. “We can both be fine together.”_

_Cleaning guns and shooting arrows. “We are definitely not the spokespeople for mental health.”_

_He laughed. “Let me help you.”_

_“I can handle this myself.”_

_“Please?”_

_She didn’t understand his need. “Why?” They spent a lot of time together, ate together, talked about pretty much everything; but they didn’t… they didn’t spar or train together or speak about their issues, not like this. That was more John’s territory. Sara’s too, when she’d been alive._

_Sighing, he gave a little gesture with his head that decreased the feeling of being put on show. “Helping you would make me feel like I’m doing something right and, who knows? It might_ help _me too.”_

_He was being very sly, knowing exactly what buttons to push: if he made helping her about him, she couldn’t say no._

_Groaning, “ugh, you know I can’t match that.” She waved over him,_ all of that _. His eyes, his voice, his compassion. “You fight dirty.”_

 _Nodding, “I do,” Oliver reached over the table for her, making her heart jump a bit -_ it’s still as pathetic now as it was four years ago _\- when his hands brushed over her arms. When his fingers curled around her wrists. “C’mere.”_

_She let go of herself._

_“I think we could both just use a friend right now.” And this he murmured into the skin of her knuckles where he held them to his mouth with both hands. “A good friend, who we can trust.”_

_Swallowing, she shuddered a breath that pushed back an amalgamation of aches: heartache, backache, grief-ache, and good ole’ gratitude. “As opposed to…?”_

_His eyes met hers and didn’t let go. “Everyone else.”_

Oh _. Mouth slightly open, “Okay,” her thumbs brushed up over his little fingers. “If that’s what you want right now.”_

_“It is.”_

_Something that was easy. Something without rules and constraints and expectations. Something that just was._

_No more lovers, no more boyfriends or girlfriends and possibilities: just some time to focus on healing themselves._

_And being there for each other throughout._

_He must have been exhausted, trying to please a city with little success; never mind the people he cared about._

_“Of course you realise,” she cleared her throat because his lips, his warm breath and large hands felt far too good and she was so close to asking for more, “this means copious amounts of dim sum. And Netflix. And techno babble. And wine. Mint chocolate chip. My couch. Your widescreen. 3am calls because we can’t sleep…”_

_At each addition, his face further gentled. “Sounds good.” Fingers shifting around hers, Oliver lifted his head about a centimetre. “From now on: you and me. The Bunker, being the mayor, Palmer Tech, our friends – all of it. We’ll do it together.”_

_Together._

_And they did-_

They had for a full year, they’d done all of that. They’d been each other’s rocks and counsel.

Partners.

“Please…” she sobbed down to her knees, her forehead braced in her knuckles during a red light, her hands still stiff on the steering wheel, “ _please_ don’t take him from me.”

 

**Let’s go out in flames so everyone knows who we are**

**‘Cause these city walls never knew that we’d make it this far**

**We’ve become echoes, but the echoes are fading away**

**So let’s dance like two shadows, burning out a glory day**

“I want to see him.”

She hadn’t been polite about it, but she could have been worse. Much worse. She could have created a scene, put on a show, made a spectacle out of it worthy of Black Siren and Cupid.

Instead, after sprinting out of her car and into the precinct, she’d hurried to where Agent Watson was stood reading over Oliver’s formal statement of admission - and maybe it was because she was so angry, but the woman looked contemptuously smug - had taken her to the side and had very quietly told her:

_“If you don’t want every officer in this station to know that you’re sentencing them to death, you’ll talk to me in someplace more private than the SCPD’s fancy-pants and extremely exposed entrance.”_

Because without the Green Arrow roving the city - without an 80% certainty that the criminals who dared commit heinous acts and managed to get away with literal murder, would eventually pay for it - what hope did the officers have to survive the year, never mind be remotely successful in their jobs?

She didn’t want to imagine it.

That moment when they’re forced to realise that they’ll have to pull double duty from now on, that they’d have to miss the moments that matter with the people they loved and cared for, that the chances of surviving that first, second and third night patrolling the streets and alleys where very real monsters are waiting to tear into them are about 50% less than what was promised before taking their college exams and the fact that their most recent chief of staff had been on the Dragon’s payroll.

Unbearable bleakness.

Reality.

Once the city adapts to the lack of a vigilante - and it wouldn’t be pretty - violent crime would increase tenfold. Underworld Kingpins would rise without resistance. Before long, bought police men would be re-introduced after Quentin Lance had spent with sweat and blood cutting them out with a coarse razor blade: all her and Oliver’s and Diggle’s initial progress in that first and second year, would be for nought.

The _least_ Felicity could do about that, was create a shit-storm that might slow Miss _I Smell A Promotion_ down enough to allow her the necessary few minutes it might take to persuade Oliver to ditch the police ‘escort’, see the light and attempt a reformation of the anti-vigilante legislation from the outside-in.

Being a fugitive was an honest step-down from being a vigilante, but something told her they could handle it.

Together.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here,” the agent in question began as she shut closed the door behind them, as she turned to face Felicity, as she attempted her not-so veiled attempts at threats that were now as useless to Felicity as a condom machine might be in the Vatican, “but be advised, I know all the moves in this game and you-”

“Oh, shut up.” Game. _This is a game to you?_ Hand raised, expression the epitome of _you think I care_ , Felicity stared at her. “Clearly you don’t have a compassionate bone in your body,” and she spoke through stiff lips and a stiffer jaw; or else tears were inevitable, “otherwise you’d have thought this through a little longer than the three seconds you obviously took to decide that dooming a city was adequate recompense for a pay rise.”

“The law dictates-”

“So, I’m just going to have to appeal to your professional vanity. Your job.” Head tilting sharply, Felicity’s smile matched the flat, pushed too far - _burning you with fire in my mind_ \- look in her eyes that was only slightly tempered by their puffiness after her crying jag. “If you don’t let me in to see him, I will sell to the media just which agency is fucking over the city without learning a thing about it. I will _also_ ,” she added in her loud voice when Samandra’s cunning mouth began to open, “report how you threatened a man with his daughter’s security to testify against _another_ man who’s spent the last six years of his life doing what the law wouldn’t and hasn’t been able to accomplish because of the many corrupt men and women it has housed.” And she watched with minimal satisfaction as Samandra’s mouth slowly closed, her eyebrow gradually arching; the woman didn’t do a thing in real-time. “And I will _overwhelm_ the courts, your boss and the ignorant masses who know nothing about this city they live in, with all the proof I’ve garnered over the _years_ and I don’t even need to be near a computer to do it.” She just needed them to detain her long enough to pass the twelve hours she’d set herself to relay a signal to deactivate a certain data-package from transmitting to WEBG NEWS.

And the proof was substantial.

Looking at Felicity the way a tiger might his next meal if it were living, the way a painter might a partially coloured canvas before taking to it water and new paint; Samandra fixed her with a stare. “I don’t think you’ll be wanting to do that.”

“You’ll be surprised at what I want to do at this point.”

“Actually, I think I’m starting to realise where I went wrong this past year.” And the agent’s admittance made Felicity pause. “I should have started with you.

“Flattery is nice but it’ll get you nowhere. If you’d started with me Agent Watson, you’d have been out of a job by now. I’ve told you what I want.” She reminded, slowly. Quietly. “Oliver has his rights too. He has the right to a phone and to visitors-”

“I think you’ll find he has very little rights to anything considering I’m about to charge him with murder, terrorism-”

“Terrorism?!” Stunned, Felicity felt the years, the tears, the many, _many_ sacrifices piling high that this woman couldn’t possibly understand. “Do you realise how many times this city has begged for help from the government only to be ignored?”

“Miss Smoak-”

“ _No_.” It was absurd: she knew the law, knew Oliver had broken it; but there to be a line. In this city especially, there had to be a line for the Green Arrow; for the man who made the law _work_. “What right do you have to judge him when _you_ turned a blind eye?” The royal ‘you’, not _you_ , you.

“I am the law.” Said so decidedly, Felicity wondered if she or Oliver or any of them had ever sounded quite so taken with their own power. “I have every right.

Searching her face, Felicity looked for that tiny hint of understanding. That little opening that would tell Felicity that the agent knew she was full of shit. “The law gave up on us. Over and over again. What else were we supposed to do?”

And at that, Samandra took a moment. “Look, I know what you’re saying. I do.” She added at the disbelief on Felicity’s face. “But I am just doing my job, and I didn’t- I didn’t consider when I first started that… that I would be disrupting the peace. I thought I’d be bringing it _back_ into the city.”

“Spoken like a person who doesn’t really know what they’re talking about. You thought you’d bring back peace by taking away it’s protector?” To that, Samandra had nothing to say except to exhale with her hands on her hips. Very helpful. “You can stop this. You can retract the charges and-”

“And what? Lose my job? Tell my boss that I’m letting a known criminal go because the city wants the law to close its eyes this time?”

Beyond sympathy, Felicity shrugged. “It’s done that before: it shouldn’t be too hard.”

Sending her an unamused look, Samandra continued. “With the anti-vigilante referendum, there is nothing I can do.”

“See, I don’t buy that.” Shaking her head, feeling time and choices slip through her fingers, Felicity grasped onto another straw. “You just said that this city wants its protector free from shackles and yet that same city just helped pass a law that bans its protector from protecting them. So basically…” and this truth had been something she’d deliberately left un-voiced because the reality of it was as close to a betrayal as strangers could allow, “they want Oliver to be the green arrow, but they also want him to operate within a law system that never helped them, because the word vigilante is too scary and too big for them to accept.”

They wanted Oliver to be infallible. Perfect. To operate within the rules, and yet save them because those rules didn’t allow for them to be saved. A lose-lose scenario. Oliver would never win.

The city couldn’t trust a man as capable as the Dark Archer, Slade Wilson, the League, Hive, Prometheus… over the years, Oliver’s enemies had made the civilians too wary to let themselves to continue to believe in someone as dangerous as him was out to protect them, despite the countless times he’d tried to save them.

They’d become afraid of him. _Some recompense_.

And the FBI - Diaz and Black Siren and the SCPD - had helped there. The Law itself had facilitated injustice. _Only in Star City_. “The things we’ve done for the city, the things they’ve made us have to do,” she whispered to herself, sounding as hoarse and as helpless as Oliver had after he’d lost his mother, “and this is how it ends?”

And maybe there was beating heart beneath that expensive suit, because Samandra looked uncomfortable. “Your loyalty does you credit. But I think it’s time that you except the inevitable. Oliver Queen is going to jail Miss Smoak.”

At this, Felicity’s gaze lifted and though a thousand arguments rose to the tip of her tongue she couldn’t voice them. She just stared at the woman who held all the keys, all the power; the woman who was crushing her hope.

And she begged. “Please.” Licking her lips, feeling everything rise to the surface and not caring how it made her look. “Please just let me talk to him.”

The five seconds it took Samandra to respond were the longest five seconds of her life.

“…I think I can do that.”

The world became a blur after that, as if knowing she’d be seeing him very soon had given her permission to give in to some of the insanity she’d felt rising inside her and wondered… _is this what they’d felt like?_ The people who’d loved and lost, the people who’d changed because of it: Maseo, Slade, Malcolm, Black Siren, Tommy. _Is this how they felt right before they cracked?_

Disassociated.

“Felicity…”

The voice came through the fog and it took a worrying ten seconds for her to place its face. “John?” Frowning at him - at where he stood at the entrance to the hall that she thought she’d been pacing in, but had instead frozen in the centre of - Felicity turned to him. “What are you doing here?”

For some reason, Diggle cleared his throat. “Oliver had a contingency plan set in place. Just in case something like this happened.”

“A contingency?” Nothing was making sense to her anymore and she didn’t seem to care too much.

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Of course, he would have.”

“…It’s for William.”

“Yes.”

“I called Thea.” The pause was significant. “She’s… she’s not coming.”

Not a surprise. Thea had been done with Starling after her mother died in it:  Oliver going to prison would just be another validation for her to never return. “She has Roy.” It was all she had to say about that: Thea wasn’t as self-sacrificing. She would never risk Roy, not again. Not a third time.

Not even for her brother.

And Oliver wouldn’t want her to.

“I need to work out the finer details with him,” Dig was saying, and she was only half listening, “and then decide on our next steps.”

She asked the only question she considered important between them just then. “ _Our_ next steps?”

For one, two, three seconds John stared at her: the regret and acceptance she saw there, was as unwelcome to her as it had been at the hospital. “My next steps.”

Felicity no longer factored in Diggle’s grand steps. Or in anyone’s. It occurred to her, absently, that maybe she only mattered to Oliver. Maybe she’d only mattered to one person for a while now.

She couldn’t feel it, any of it.

“Right.” She breathed.

In her peripheral, John took a step closer. “He’ll want you safe Felicity.”

“I’m sure he will.”

“Maybe you should consider going into-”

“I’m not going into witness protection.” She’d never get out if she did.

“Felicity-”

“John.” Turning only her head to look at him, she saw a new fear began to ripple over the lines of his face and absently wondered at the meaning of it. “I’m not going into witness protection. And I’m not… I’m not part of his family.” Not a blood relative. “I’m not as important. I’m not trusting Argus just because you work there now.”

His chest deflated. “Oliver wouldn’t want this.”

She chose to ignore which aspect of ‘this’ he was referring to. “Oliver doesn’t get a say in how I am right now, nor do you. If he’s willing to trust you despite the lies, negligence, and despicable acts that Argus has perpetrated over the years, then so be it. I won’t change his mind. But I won’t just stand here and let the worst happen.”

“Nothing has even happened yet Felicity.”

“Yep.” The _yet_ was what had her worried. “And I’m not going to let it.

“You’re already so decided against it?”

“I’m just preparing for the worst.” Looking down at her hands, she twisted around the ring that meant so much to her on her middle finger. The one that was an arrowhead twisted into a ring. “I’m not ready to let go of how much we’ve done John…” Glancing back up at him, she beseeched him one last time. “This isn’t right. We can’t let him go.”

And right there, John Diggle decided that her hope and Oliver’s life was adequate compensation. “He’s already gone Felicity. You need to accept that, and you need to let us deal with the rest.” As if she was no longer capable of being useful. “And who knows,” Maybe he couldn’t see how a piece of her had just shattered; maybe he had no idea that, in this moment, his words and his voice were as fists upon her person, “maybe you can finally have that vacation you’ve been wanting for the last three years…”

And when the others came - when Dinah, Rene, Curtis, and a clearly just woken up Laurel, peeked around the corner - when John turned to them and left her standing there, alone, she realised she’d been right.

They’d left her behind, left it all behind. They were already moving on; she could see it.

See it in the resignation on Curtis’s face; the acceptance of the death of their once close friendship as he watched her before looking _down_. Before quitting on himself and them. Saw it in the pale regard on Rene; the guilt and the _relief_ he carried as he walked away from her with John when Samandra returned. Caught it in the cool confidence of Dinah’s straight back, in the hardened set of her gaze, the resolve in her shoulders: she was already preparing to face this new world without the Green Arrow.

And Laurel-

“I want to see him.” The words were solid considering how she looked like a breeze might fell her. “I want to see Oliver.”

Stood in front of John the way she was, Samandra Watson’s eyes flickered to where Felicity stood away from them all. “I can allow that.” Stepping slightly aside, Samandra presented the way. “You first.”

 

**Devil’s on your shoulder, strangers in your head**

**As if you don’t remember, as if you can’t forget**

**It’s only been a moment, it’s only been a lifetime**

**But tonight you’re a stranger, some silhouette**

 

One by one, the team shuffled in to see him. To see Oliver.

Having gone in first, Laurel had been left waiting on the plush sofa seats beside Watson’s temporary office. Arms wrapped around her middle, she hadn’t said a word about what had occurred between Oliver and her in the five minutes she’d been allocated. She just looked like someone had told her Santa Claus wasn’t real. In this scenario, Laurel was more a capricious, starry eyed, twelve-year-old than the grown woman who lived and breathed realism; a woman with little in the way of dreams.

 _She looks devastated_. She hadn’t looked like that when Sara died. She’d looked angry then. Livid. Vengeful _, more so than when she found out I’d told Oliver that she’d planned to bring her back to life_.

This nightmare was bringing up wonderful memories.

Laurel had never forgiven her, would _never_ forgive her. Despite having more than a good reason for preventing that choice - that good reason including _not_ presenting Thea to her psycho father like a toy to be played with - the resolute lawyer had seen Felicity’s actions as a betrayal and had since made sure to never miss a chance to remind Felicity that because of her, Sara Lance was still rotting in the ground.

 _I have enough regrets: that isn’t one of them_. She’d do it again.

But then Felicity heard Rene push up from his chair - a kind of silent agreement that until the last man had been in to see Oliver, none of them would leave; a show of support that, now, she found disturbingly hilarious - with his hands already rising to the top of his head. “This is…” sucking in a breath. “This is joke.”

And he walked away, leaving Felicity to stare after him. _Too little, too late._

But then John walked out of the room after his own five minutes were up - world weary - and Felicity felt her heart pound once. Skip a beat. Then pound again.

It was her turn.

She didn’t look at any of them as she moved, feeling like she’d left her stomach somewhere on the floor behind her; they might see what she intended if she did. And as she passed Watson, the woman reached out to stop her.

“Miss Smoak.” With a hand on her arm, Agent Samandra Watson made Felicity look her in the eye. “You have twenty minutes.”

She had no idea what to say. In one way, an extra fifteen minutes was more than she could have hoped for. In another way, pretending that fifteen more minutes to talk to a man she most likely wouldn’t see free for a very long time was a gift, was cruel.

As Rene had said, a joke.

Mouth numb, Felicity simply walked out of her hold and moved towards the door. It was opened for her by one of Watson’s burly, totally unnecessary ‘henchmen’ who’d come to take Oliver - not that they’d be able to stop him should he decide to escape anyway - but she ignored him too; not seeing anything except the nondescript room, the light coming through the window, the sound of the door closing behind her, the table in the centre of the room and-

“Felicity.”

The senseless suddenly made sense.

It made her stop mid-step. _He_ made her stop.

Made her look at him first, made her take in - fully - just what it _felt_ like to look at Oliver and to savour it; because looking at him did that to her every time and the realisation that it was never simple, was the kiss of death to her control.

It _wasn’t_ something she only did with her eyes, seeing him; it was a full human experience. A reminder that every inch of him was pleasing to her; how the little things - his puffed-out hair after a fight, his inhumanely pretty eyes, his passion laid out for the world to see behind his words and his heart in his gaze - affected her in every sensory way and some other ways she hadn’t known existed. A delicious feast for the soul.

A subconscious, subliminal agreement between his body and her brain; deciding for her the level of her tone, the cadence of her speech, the seriousness and urgency of a moment, the warmth in her when seeing him led to inevitable discourse.

It was a punch to the gut every single time and she loved it.

And then his voice would accompany the experience and _how does anyone at any time see an enemy in him?_

The most indulgent of all her pleasures was secretly honing in on it when he spoke to others, and feeling secure. Or taking visceral enjoyment of it when he whispered over a comm late at night. It was attractive: low in an overly masculine way, husky - sometimes breathy, other times sharp or firm - in tone and the whisper-like quality to his happier moments. It was grace and sin and goodness in every breath.

Put together, he was a walking dream.

A nightmare to cut out.

She couldn’t imagine living her life without him being a fixed feature, but that’s what he was doing. He was taking himself far away from her. Choice. It was always choice and- _why does he always choose to lose?_ Being away from her might not be to him what being separated from Oliver was to her but, going to prison was not the better of two evils.

“Oliver.” And suddenly she was moving; urgency making walk swift to the desk he sat behind. “We can still get you out of here. One tweak of their security system and it’ll be a cake-walk.” Make the officers flap about and they’d be out of the exit doors before anyone even thought to consider searching the interrogation rooms for suspects. “But we need to do this now: Watson already has the van set up to take you to Blackgate and-”

“Felicity.” Her name again. She didn’t like hearing it this time. “Come over here for a moment, please?”

 _Don’t do this_. “I can do it onsite or I can set up remote access.” She really didn’t appreciate the beautiful softness of his tone right now either. “We can meet up at the old pier and I’ll have everything we need for a fast getaway out of the city.”

“Just,” it was like he was trying super hard to say things he’d worked up to saying, “just come over here.”

“It won’t be forever.” And she wasn’t even looking at him anymore because she could feel it. “We just need some time to set up a counter defence for this.” He wasn’t with her. “I mean next time I’d appreciate it if you could include me in your acts of self-sacrifice so I can smack you upside the head…”

And she could hear the pretty smile in his voice, the depth of his sadness, the way he was trying to preemptively cushion her fall and inject humour where there _couldn’t_ be any but was instead only making panicking climb into her oesophagus. “Yeah. Next time.”

Never.

 _Stop it, stop it, stop-_ “A little urgency would be helpful right now, okay?” Swallowing down bile, she sucked in a breath and, finally, stopped mid-pace; not realising she’d been pacing quickly as she spoke. “Why aren’t you standing?”

He just looked at her.

Nausea turned to dread, and she had to close her mouth: what she could feel from him - his peaceful resignation - was offensive to her in every way possible just then. 

Clamping down on her tears, she felt her jaw crack. “Oliver, get up.”

Sad, _sad_ eyes flickered down to the table. He wasn’t coming with her.

“Don’t do this.” An end to _them_ and _us_ and _this_ and _together_. “Get up.” Stand. “Fight this with me.”

 _Don’t leave me_.

She knew her pupils were dilated, knew she was breathing a little too fast, and that her fingers were fighting each other for security where there wasn’t any to be found, because he wasn’t coming with her.

He wasn’t getting up.

She could stage an escape and he wouldn’t take her up on it.

He was going to sit there and let this happen.

As if an invisible band had been wrapped around her rib-cage as her last piece of hope was slowly tugged out of her, she felt it contract: another slip of control. “Oliver Queen, _get up_.”

“I’m-”

“ _No_.” Head shaking, “I don’t want to hear it,” she was back at the table and leaning over it in a second. “You are not giving up. _I_ am not letting you give up; not after everything we’ve been through- everything we had to give up getting to this moment. It does not end with you in jail. It doesn’t!”

His eyes closed “Felicity-”

“Stop it!” Her hands slapped down on the table-top. “Stop saying my _name_ like that.” Like it was all ending, because it was, wasn’t it? “It doesn’t make everything okay again. It shouldn’t be this easy for you to be so self-sacrificing.”

“You think this is easy?” And the guttural quality to his voice - the way his eyes opened slowly to level her with such a controlled, such a strong yet defeated look - was almost too overwhelming to bear just then. “You think I wanted this?”

“Seeing you right now,” and as loud as she was, the words came out broken - her tone delicate - instead of the cutting response she’d intended, “yes, I think you find it easier to just-”

“What? To _what_?!” And his shout made her flinch. “What else could I do but this?”

“ _Anything_ else.”

Every word was emphasized by the white of his eyes. “There _was_ nothing else I could do.”

“You don’t know that. _I_ could have done something.” She added at his head-shake, his total denial that she could change this. “God, I _hate_ this side of you.”

Feeling that hate made his brows join together, made his throat move, and made him briefly close his eyes. “I know you do. Believe me, if there had been another way…”

“I’d believe just about anything if it meant getting you to get _yourself_ out of this.” Blinking away the heat behind her eyes, Felicity’s voice wobbled as she gazed into his. “ _Please_.”

But he was acting like there was a light at the end of the tunnel. “You don’t understand, I-”

“I don’t need to understand why you’re choosing prison.” _Stay on target, stay focused, stay hard_ \- she sounded nothing but soft. Weak. Terrified. Needy. “I just need you to acknowledge that you recognise the _alternative_ here.”

Taking a very long, shallow breath; Oliver held her gaze. “I recognise the alternative.”

“You know you can escape?”

“I know I can escape.”

“Good. That’s progress-”

“But I’m not going to.”

Eyes slamming shut, a sound akin to a whine left her clenched teeth. “ _Oliver_.” He was hurting her: a fist around her heart. “Come on, work with me.”

“I can’t.”

The whisper made her eyes snap wide open, anger and everything inside her flaring in them. “You mean you won’t.”

“…I won’t.”

Rocketing back on heels, clamping down on her tongue, hands still pressed down on the table; Felicity allowed herself to say it, feel it, think it, show it. “I _need_ you to.”

_I need you to be here. I need you to not give up, to not give in. I need you with me. I need you._

And like he could see her, the everything that was her, Oliver ever so slightly tilted his head and his tiny, watery smile made her stomach drop. “I can’t.” He murmured, saying nothing further.

Because what she was asking was impossible for him now?

“Do you understand what you’re condemning the city to?” Grasping at straws: it had come to this, manipulation. A low point in their relationship. Kicking him when he was already down. “Don’t you know what’s going to happen? Those crime rates we thought were high before, they’ll soar!” Reaching, reach, _reach_. “Smuggling, trafficking; it’ll dig its way back into the city. You drove out the Triad, the Yakuza, the mafia, Brick: what will rise in their place without you?”

“Something else. There’ll always be something else. But John will be watching. The city will take care of itself.” Voice hypnotic, Oliver spoke of a world that didn’t exist. “And Dinah’s working in the SCPD; she’ll maintain the law and see that justice gets done. Rene has eyes on the city.”

Where they talking about the same people?

“Are you listening to yourself? This deal you made means that there _is_ no more mission. The anti-vigilante referendum eliminates all masks.” Not that they’d have let that stop them. “Rene, Dinah, Curtis, John - they’re already planning their vacations.” The sheer venom that thought inspired - the loneliness - poured into her words and her eyes and he took it all in complete silence. “There’s _just_ me. There’s just _you_. What we fought for doesn’t end here just because the odds are not in our favour. We can still do this: we can change the way the city sees you, we can work the system from the outside.”

“Laurel has authority as the DA,” it was like she hadn’t spoken, “it’ll be exactly like it was before...” he licked his lips, “before I came home.” And she could see it on his face: the why of it all. Why had he returned home? “Maybe it’s the way it was always going to be.”

“What, because we’ve come full circle, you think this’ll right all wrongs? Because this city _wasn’t_ a mess before you came home?” _Why am I attacking him?_ She should be touching him, hugging him, loving him; telling him all the things, giving him all the words. “You’ve done so much good for this city-”

“Have I?” Quiet. It was quiet. And it shut her up, the way he looked at her: the utter openness. The bleak honesty in his face. “Have you seen the city we live in? Nothing’s changed Felicity.” He whispered. “We’ve fought and we fought, and we got nowhere.”

“That’s not true.” _Don’t say that._ She was shaking her head, her words emotional and turbulent but as quiet as his. “You know that’s not true. Look at what we stopped.”

“We did.” He acknowledged, nodding. “We stopped a lot of bad things happening. We also invited a lot of bad things.”

Eyes rolling into her head before they closed, she almost snarled at him “Do not buy into Watson’s crap.”

“Then how about-”

“Malcolm.” She shot out, eyes flying open. “Without you here, the Glades would be gone. Roy, dead. Laurel, dead. A third of the city without anyone to give a crap about them, save you.”

Mouth closing, he just looked at her: absorbing.

“Then the League would have come for him and the city would have become a battle ground. I’d have probably died.” She flippantly added. “Dig too.”

“Don’t tempt that.”

“And Dhark.” She moved on. “The city would have been ripe for his warped apocalypse. Then _everyone_ dies.” She looked at him in wonder. “You want to know what we accomplished? Look at all those lives you saved…”

And the painful fondness in him as he looked up at her, was torturous. “I used to wonder if you were an oracle.” This _warmth_ poured into his eyes, his voice, his smile - _stop it_. “You always knew just what to say, you knew exactly what was going to happen. But even if you disagreed with me, you never once…” his voice trailed off in a breath as he internally punished himself for being a human being, “not once did you abandon me. You didn’t leave. You stayed.”

He was killing her. “Oliver, I am _begging_ you.” Because how could it be called asking when she was this desperate? Distraught. “Don’t let them take you to prison.”

“Felicity…”

“Please do this for me!” She sobbed for the very first time in her life since her father left and she hadn’t meant to beg: she’d intended on her anger winning out, on her loud voice making him see sense and it was all failing. “Please, Oliver!”

It rippled through him; starting somewhere near his eyebrows where they tapered with distress, the blue in his eyes melting into liquid violets, the puckering of his mouth, his lower lip wobbling before he _bit_ down on it. As if he couldn’t stand to hear her say things that made him _feel_. “Felicity-”

“Please?” She cried, as if it would get her anywhere. “ _Please?_ _Please_ -”

Eyes shutting tight, face scrunching up; her upper body lent upon the strength of her arm as a hand rose to cover her eyes, forcing back the tide.

“I… I’m sorry.” A gentle undertone from where he sat, where he wouldn’t stand. “I’m so sorry.”

That was it. The resolution did it. She’d failed.

Heartbreak was silent, did you know that?

And he was worth every drop of agony: the ache in her chest, the yawning awareness that everything was about to change for the worst, not the better, and the silent way she did it all. It was in her bones, under her skin and she couldn’t feel anything save the knowing that she was about to die inside.

Lock it up. Build a cage, hide behind it.

He was going to jail. She couldn’t cry all over him, she couldn’t let the last thing he saw as a free man be her falling to pieces. She had to be strong here.

Again. And again. And eventually, she’d have to be strong again some more.

Like him.

Was there anything that _he_ couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ let show? Here? Now?

And like he could hear her thoughts, she felt his fingers against the back of her hand. “I won’t be able to do this if you cry.” _Tempting_. “Don’t cry, not for me.”

How stupid.

Who else would she _ever_ cry for, if the not this man?

Thankfully being manacle free allowed his fingers to wrap around her wrist. “Come down here.” _Tug_ , those fingers slid up her arm; that she couldn’t feel the warmth of him through the jacket she wore, was harsh. “Come here.” The tips touched her throat and she felt herself slide downwards towards the desk; suddenly powerless. “That’s my girl.”

If there was a way to destroy her with words, then he’d mastered it. “You’re saying goodbye.” She breathed; slumping forwards on the desk, unable to pull out the chair as his hands steadied her. “I can’t believe you’re saying goodbye to me.”

Hearing his exhale, the weight of his arms covering hers was another piece of cruelty. “Then let’s not say goodbye.”

“Don’t play with me.” Not now. Not when it was their last time.

“I’m not.” His fingers lightly squeezed around her biceps. “We’ll say… see you later.”

In twenty years to life. “Oliver, what am I supposed to do now?” She asked the table.

“Live.” Pulling free from him, her hands covered her face once more; a desperate grab at her own tears. “Be happy.” Another breath. “I can do this if I know your happy.”

He can survive prison if he knows she’s happy. What could she even say to that? “How can I be happy if you’re in prison?”

The quiet felt suffocating. Caught between that terrible awkwardness - the punishing question - and the gaping chasm that was her future: how was she supposed to ever be happy again? He’d condemned her and he didn’t realise it, because he didn’t think he was difficult to get over.

But then she heard him swallow and it was only seconds later that she felt his fingers against the back of hers again. They slipped through hers, pulling them off her face and clasping them tenderly between his own.

Forcing her to look at him because there was nothing else to see. Not ever.

His eyes trailed over her face; like he was memorising every detail from the puffy redness of her eyes behind her glasses, her bottle blonde locks and the way she was clenching her jaw to keep from crying. “You’ll be happy…” And how a man could smile at her as his eyes were already welcoming the dimness of his own future as he accepted knowing that the rest of his life would be spent away from the people he loved, was beyond her. “You’ll be happy _because_ I’m in prison.”

 _For me_ , she heard the unspoken words.

Staring at him, committing this moment to memory, her tears were indeed silent. “That’s not fair.” And his unbelievably wretched smile told her he knew that too. “You’re giving your life again.” She barely got it out. “You keep doing that. You keep saving us. Oliver… you’ve barely lived in your 30’s.” She needed him to see reality, to try one last time knowing the reminder might just tear a hole into him. “You could be in there for decades. It’s too much to expect of anyone…”

But she had nothing, nothing at all that could match him.

His thumbs were on her knuckles when his answer stroked over her skin.

“I pay it gladly.”

 

**Just hold me**

**Just hold me**

**Just hold me**

**Just hold me**

Twenty years.

He told her in the quiet of that room: he had a twenty-year sentence.

What could she even to say to that? To the wan, wretchedly hopeful look on his face; as if thought that two decades of his life, instead of the whole of it, was a silver lining.

 _She_ was shaking.

He could feel it but didn’t mention it as he went on to say that if with good behaviour, they might be able to knock off five years, which was… what? What was that? Good? Promising?

Really, really awful?

Hearing him state his sentence in numbers, the start of his long march to freedom… she couldn’t consider it. Couldn’t see it, _him_. Sitting in a cold, grey cell for twenty years; waiting to feel the sun on his face and the wind in his hair as a free man.

It was enough to make her throat convulse, _no_ , threatening a wave of bile and water.

Chilling, how he could just talk about it like that.

If the shoe were on the other foot, he’d wouldn’t have wasted a second getting her out of there and he wouldn’t have cared for protests.

Oliver Queen. The king of double standards.

Not that it mattered: knowing that he’d come out of prison to a changed world, a place where he may no longer fit, was horrifying; especially imagining him trying to find his way, _alone_ because that’s what he’d do. He’d deliberately keep from contacting any of them; he’d stay away, hoping they were happy. Oliver not-so-secretly thought of himself as a black stain: he wouldn’t press himself upon any of them-

And that was only if he survived.

Blackgate wasn’t a sunshine and roses facility. No prison was, but to intentionally ship him off to where they’d delivered half of the criminals they’d hunted down over the years, was tantamount to murder. Or would be, if Oliver wasn’t one of the most lethal men on the planet.

_“I’ll be fine.”_

It was his answer for everything: _I’ll be fine. This is fine. We’ll be fine. The city will be fine. Everything will be-_

“Hey.” He had the audacity to be _this_ gentle with her. “It’s okay.”

_Hey, it’s nothing._

Now. _Now_ , he was telling her everything. They had minutes left before she lost him forever and she had no idea where to start, never mind how to end what had been her entire life for six years.

“I will never stop fighting.” It was all she could find inside herself and she could be forgiven for that, couldn’t she? For a slow roll of truth, one that she felt his body still with. “I will not rest until Diaz is behind bars,” _because he ruined your life_ , “because that was _their_ half of the deal, Oliver.” She said when his hands tightened on hers. “The SCPD _and_ the FBI; they owe us this.”

“Listen to me.” And it looked like he’d rather say anything else than what he was about to which didn’t give her the mushy feelings at all. “They… they _didn’t_. They told me that they would give us two days to catch him and that regardless of the outcome, they’d take me in anyway. They have enough proof to do exactly that.” His shrug didn’t match the situation. “One less menace loose for them is a win.”

“ _Bullshit_. What proof?”

“The proof Susan gave them, Rene’s testimony and… my confession.”

A confession. _He wrote a confession?_ “What, did you just…” the slight laugh she huffed was utterly without humour, “ _walk_ into Watson’s office with it pre-written?” It was depressing that she knew that was exactly what he’d done. “You do everything you can to hurt yourself, you realise that?”

“It doesn’t matter, I just-”

“It matters.” She whispered. “It matters to me. _You_ matter to me.” He always had, ever since-

_Hi, I’m Oliver Queen._

But he kept dismissing it. _Her_.

He released a shaky breath in pieces as he took her in. “I need you to be safe.”

“I don’t want to be safe.” _I want to be with you_.

“Please don’t do that.” She could hear the ‘not now’ that he didn’t verbalise. “You know me; you know that I won’t be able to last in prison if I know you’re out there, putting yourself in danger.”

“Then what if I told you that I am going to do everything in my power to get you out?” Call it stubbornness, call it fear, call it - as the others had - superiority, but her teeth were set, her body frozen in place; she was absolutely determined to make him see she wasn’t _with_ him and absolutely petrified because she knew he knew that. “It’ll be easier than you think.” Harder too. “They can’t prove anything: I made sure that no one could ever fully link most of what we’ve accomplished over the years to you; I was careful.” _Extremely_ , and the words were tumbling out, faster and faster and more agitated. “Just give me a few weeks: just me, a computer, Alena and-”

“This is _not_ up for negotiation.”

It had been a long time since Oliver had used that voice on her, his hard voice. It hadn’t worked then. But this was different. _He_ was different. It forced her _down_. He didn’t glare at her, but his eyes were serious; the kind of intense that kept her right there, kept her quiet. That made her listen as his throaty voice carried over her skin.

“Once they take me to Blackgate,” he continued, infuriatingly controlled for someone about to walk into a very real, very different kind of nightmare, “they’ll be keeping an eye on you and the others, and I promised them that none of you would operate outside of the law in future.”

She stared at his unblinking gaze and whispered. “Why would you even think to promise something like that?”

Earnest eyes that believed in the logic of his current insanity were emphatic as he answered. “To keep you all out of the public eye and from joining me in prison.”

“Did it ever occur to you that we’d be alright falling on our own swords?” Taking responsibility for their own actions these past years. “That maybe we might _want_ the opportunity to-”

“It doesn’t matter.” One headshake. _One_. Maddening. “This is not something that can be changed or stopped just because you don’t want me to go.” And that was the bottom line, wasn’t it? The reason why he was watching her chin was wobble, why she was fighting a dead argument with him. She was postponing the moment he’d have to leave. “This is done.” Quieter now, Oliver spoke to her heart. “I need you to promise me.”

Feeling defeated and hating that she did - slumped where she was over the table - every inch of her ached, coating her voice when she managed to push out. “ _What_?”

He inhaled, leaning as close to her as possible and it hit to her why he hadn’t stood up: he was taking away every possible avenue. He didn’t want to be tempted to change his mind. “I spoke to everyone…”

“Yeah, I saw.” She breathed; quickly reaching under her glasses to rub her eye. “Fun times.”

The smile that littered on him was very brief. “I asked them all to keep an eye out. I told Laurel to move on.” It was a random course change in discourse; the words unspeakably cruel for the lawyer to hear as Felicity knew the torch the contradictory woman would always carry for this wonderful man in front of her. To Felicity? A long time coming. “To… let _us_ go. I should have said it after Lian Yu.” Giving a little headshake, he looked like he needed water because he kept swallowing. “I should have it said after I found out about William. Children should come with marriage, with the desire to build a home with a person. They shouldn’t be a reminder.” A reminder that a long time ago, Oliver hadn’t just betrayed Laurel with a woman who wasn’t Sara; he’d had a child with this stranger. “I didn’t tell her about William because I didn’t want her to hate me again.”

Confounded - and because she was one of the random of people - Felicity’s poor brain was caught on the tangent. “I… I’m sorry, I’m not trying to hurt you; but I think keeping that you have a son a secret from her is what made her leave you.” She softly stated. “And she doesn’t hate you.”

She loved him and just called it hatred.

It was another grudge Laurel had on Felicity: the fact that Oliver told her and not his girlfriend about his secret son.

Yet, stunningly, another slow smile warmed the desolation on his face; it held a staggering amount of affection and was hard to look at. “She didn’t leave me because I lied, Felicity; she left because I have a son.” Thrown, she frowned; diverted for a moment and he continued with that look that told her she didn’t know as much about the Oliver and Laurel of it all as she thought she did. “Knowing that another woman would have my first child, was too much for her. She had this idea that we’d get married,” he murmured, “that we’d _fix_ this city before even thinking about children.” He sighed. “She didn’t want kids… and I didn’t ask her to marry me.” The revelation made Felicity’s mouth fall open, despite the seriousness of the situation. “If my marrying her was conditional upon where we were in terms of the mission, then I didn’t _want_ to marry her.”

 _…Oh_.

“Yeah.” He nodded at her. “I let her walk out because it was easiest at the time, because… maybe I didn’t share with her about William because I didn’t _want_ to share him with her, but we never talked about it. Not fully. And we never…” he looked like he was having trouble finding the right words. “Looked back.”

“So, there was no one last night for old times’ sake? You know, a moment of weakness that might have led to that talk?” As in, they never fell into bed with each other again afterwards.

For some reason, he seemed to find that amusing; in the gallows humour kind of way. “No.”

“You don’t,” and it was _because_ he was going to jail that she asked, “regret it?”

Did he now regret not asking Laurel to marry him, seeing that he was going to jail?

“I always wanted to get married,” he breathed, gazing somewhere that wasn’t _here_ ; maybe realising that now, he never would, “but I wanted it be for the right reasons. It’s been years since Laurel found out I have a son and she’s gotten used to waiting. It was on the tip of her tongue: she wanted me to ask her to _wait_.” Swallowing, it ate at him; how he was condemning every aspect of his life. Building walls. Cutting corners. Destroying avenues. Boarding up exist and entries. “This way, maybe she can finally look forward. Live the life she deserves.” _Without him_. “I hurt her again.” And now he was hurting Felicity, hurting himself. “But I made her promise to keep _safe_ , to not go looking for ways to circumvent the law. To look for a _new_ way and she agreed. So did John: he’s going to use his position at Argus to do the same, as is Dinah through the SCPD.”

Her energy still draining out in one long torrent, Felicity realised that maybe she was the only one in the group capable of seeing just how flawed his thinking was. Just how horrific the next few months could be; never mind the next few years. _Without you_. “It’s a very pretty picture your painting.”

The world didn’t become what you wanted it to become, just because you wanted it. They’d had enough experience to know that the world didn’t work that way. People have to work hard at it. And while this sudden new vision might be possible, it was the exact same idea that he and she had been working towards since day one. A better world. A _just_ world.

They’d failed.

The way he faltered - the way his gaze darted away from her and around them - told her he knew exactly what she meant and wasn’t going to acknowledge it. “It _has_ to work, which is why I need you to do the same.”

“No.”

“Felicity-”

“You can’t ask me to cover my eyes and my ears and bury my head in the sand.”

“I’m _not_ asking!” His shout made her jerk back, made anger rise in her like a phantom- “Don’t make this for nothing.” And he was ready for her, abruptly switching from shout to murmur and it knocked the wind out of her. “You are the only one I can trust to truly do what I ask; do this for me.” He could plead with her, _he_ could get _his_ way and his way was always so damn wretched, but when _she_ did it-

“I can’t.” She said, like he’d said.

“ _Promise_ me.”

“No.” It came out brittle and broken and she continued before he could give her another order. “You can’t decide for me how I’ll live my life, just like I can’t make you,” she spoke louder, cutting over his argument, “escape from here.”

Breathing like he’d been running over rooftops late at night, Oliver closed his eyes. “Felicity, please.”

“You made your choice.” She reminded him and it wasn’t unkind despite the way his back bevelled. “I’m making mine.”

She would not forget about this man.

She would not become one of the blind, deaf and mute.

She would fight.

If she didn’t, she’d die inside. She’d lose what made her Felicity Smoak and she loved what she was, even if others found her lacking.

“I get it.” Except, Oliver’s last defence was impenetrable. “I do. If you were the one… even if I were somehow unable to stop them from taking you to prison,” because the idea that the men and women here to stop the Green Arrow from getting what he came for, was laughable, “I would make it my new mission to get you _out_ of there.”

“Exactly, so-”

“But it isn’t you. It’s me.” It was so simply stated, she couldn’t cut him off; she couldn’t stop his mouth. “I know that it isn’t fair; that it feels like one rule for you and another for me, but in this instance, I don’t _care_ what’s fair and what isn’t.” If the lack of mercy in his tone was anything to go by, he was speaking from the heart. “If you-” he licked his lips, “if _you_ fight my choice, then you’re making it for nothing. I am going to prison.” And he stressed each word, seemingly unmoved by how severely his words affected her. “It’s done. But if you continue the way we have been doing,” _you_ , not we, because there was no _we_ anymore, “if you keep with being a… a vigilante,” for lack of a better word now that _hero_ seemed a tainted one, “then the FBI will arrest John. They will arrest Rene and Dinah and Laurel and _you_. And I will _still_ be in prison.” A slither of weakness made his voice break. “I don’t want what I’m doing to have been for nothing. Please. _Please_ respect my choice.”

“You have no idea how _impossible_ it is,” She forced out, because they’d been honest with each other in the past, but not _this_ honest; _better late than never_ , “to sit on the side-lines and watch as others make choices for you when you could have done something yourself.” Like Cooper. “You’re making me do it again.”

And that hit him where she intended it to, his head inclining with it. “I _know_.” That was the problem with knowing so much about a person. Once you know them, they tend to know you back. “But,” always a caveat, “this is the only future I can see where at least some of us live full lives. Let my choice make something good happen for a change.”

For. A. Change.

“You are not at the root of all bad-”

“Felicity.” He cut in, because she was fighting just to fight now. “I want this.”

Sometimes it was that simple.

Oliver wanted prison. He wanted it over anything else. And for a brief, genuinely agonising moment, a thought flashed behind her eyes; a small voice inside her that she thought she’d crushed years ago.

 _You’d choose prison over fighting together, with me_. Of course, she wasn’t enough. She’d never been enough.

And - also, of course - that wasn’t fair of her.

“We all get to live but you.” She said without expecting a response. “Why is it _always_ you?”

She felt his thumbs brush over the back of her hands in answer.

_I pay it gladly._

Cruel.

But then there was a knock on the door, and she felt their brief time slipping through her fingers like sand through a sieve.

The door _opened_ , admitting an uncertain William into the room and she couldn’t possibly regret the way Oliver’s face lit up; even with how devastating it was knowing that he wouldn’t be smiling like that again for a long while after this.

“William.” Oliver’s voice was all at once too tender, too afraid and utterly wonderful to hear when he was speaking to his son. “Hi.” And finally; he pulled upwards from the table, carefully disentangling his hands from Felicity’s. “You didn’t have to come.”

 _This_ he said to Samantha who stood behind William like a rock, but her expression was surprisingly sympathetic for a woman who wouldn’t let Oliver officially declare that he was her son’s father. Even after being partially to blame for his break-up with Laurel, even after he made sure to prioritise her on Lian Yu for his son, and even after going above and beyond to make sure they were comfortable in Star City; Samantha hadn’t let him declare to the world that he was a dad. In one respect, it was smart given Oliver’s many enemies. In another, it felt punishing.

But Samantha had to put her son first. Always.

“Yes, we did.” She nodded at the back of William’s head where he stood in front of her, nervously glancing from Oliver to Felicity - as she slowly pulled herself up into a fully standing human being - but couldn’t seem to hold any of their gazes for long. “You both should be given the chance to say goodbye.”

It was a swift kick in the chest.

William knew who his father was.

So had Cayden James, which mean that Diaz did too.

The amount of time Oliver had with his son was too brief to call it time at all. Weekend’s littered throughout a hectic year, once they’d made it back from Lian Yu. The occasional evening of sci-fi movies and watching daddy shoot his arrows. _That wasn’t a pun for something else_ : William genuinely adored watching Oliver train. It hadn’t taken long for Will to love his father: being the Green Arrow helped there. Being a marshmallow beneath the muscle did too. _Trusting_ that his father would always be there however, was something William learned very quickly, was impossible an expectation for Oliver to keep.

Oliver wasn’t reliable that way.

Whilst William seemed to have forgiven that, it had wrecked Oliver when he realised that because of what they’d chosen to do years ago, he couldn’t willingly choose to love his son before considering the welfare of the city.

And Felicity had done everything she could to ease his work load, but it wasn’t enough. Not for a child. “Hi Sam.” She said, wiping a quick hand under her eyes as she joined the trio; managing a brief smile. “Hey, Will.”

The kid, bless him, nodded back; his smile seemed to be stuck somewhere in his throat. _I know the feeling._ “They’re taking him to prison?”

That it was his first question wasn’t a surprise but why was he directing it at her? “Apparently so.”

Beside her, hands on his hips - _I’m going to miss seeing that_  - Oliver looked at her.

“For how long?” William asked, undeterred.

 _Deep, deep breaths_. “For a long time.”

And you could see it; the moment when William’s dreams of having a dad attend his science fares, of sharing him with all his friends, of building that happy nuclear family life, died.

 _Me too kiddo_.

“Come here.” Oliver murmured to Will, just as he’d murmured to her; with his arm already circling around his son’s shoulders. “Come on.”

And what a privilege it was to see Oliver with _his_ child.

What a joke.

It hurt. Eyes connecting with Samantha’s, she was surprised again to find a similar expression on her face. Even she, the woman who’d been denied the chance to have the man who’d knocked her up by her side for the past 12 years, thought this was unfair. But since when was something being unfair, _ever_ enough to change a tide?

Another knock on the door made Felicity’s brows rise. _They’re taking him to prison but they’re going to do it using manners?_ When Watson popped her head in, Felicity almost strode forward to shove it back out. _Calm down_.

“Mr Queen?” So much for calming down because, _are you kidding me?_ Watson even _looked_ apologetic about interrupting; like she was asking him to come sign something before he went home. See no evil, hear no evil. “We’re ready for you.”

 _We’re ready to take you to jail_ , how like Star City to make jail time sound like a trip to the store and- _oh god, no- I can’t do this, I can’t-_

“Thank you.” The politeness in the room made want to scream or _throw up_. Oh, the _choices_. “Can I have one more minute please?” Oliver requested quietly as he held William to him.

But what was one more minute, when they were taking him away. They were _taking_ him and, _why aren’t I bigger? Stronger?_ _Where’s all my political influence? Why aren’t I-_

More.

Why, alone, couldn’t she stop this? It was a horrible reality for her, that - after everything they’d done - there was no one else to rely on.

John wasn’t in the room.

Years ago during the time of anarchy in the Glades, of Mirakuru soldiers, of reckless street kids, the Foundry and Hive; John Diggle would have been in this room with them, bringing everything he had to the table to stop this. And maybe if circumstances were different - maybe if she’d done more, if she’d managed to make him stay - maybe Oliver wouldn’t be about to pay a price that wasn’t his to pay.

Black Siren had gleefully killed and maimed for Adrian Chase, for Cayden James, for Richard Diaz and for herself. But she wasn’t going to serve time. Why? Because to do so would be to upend _Laurel’s_ life and bring shame to her name. To Felicity, it hadn’t been enough of a reason, but she’d respected Oliver’s decision; that after losing Sara a second time, loosing Tommy a second time too, and then losing her father... he felt she’d suffered enough.

It was the wrong choice.

 _Maybe I am biased_. Maybe Dinah had a point. _Maybe I was feeling guilty_. Preventing Laurel from bringing her sister back to life - enlisting Nyssa to help her - had been a call she wouldn’t retract, but it was one that still kept her awake at night at times. _That good old what if._

She hadn’t stepped in. She hadn’t given siren to Argus. She’d let Laurel and her twisted twin pretend that life was good.

For Oliver’s sake.

“Of course.” Agent Watson uttered, as if she was being magnanimous - or maybe the full understanding of what she was doing to the city was finally starting to show - and her solemn nod would look more appropriate at a coronation.

When the door closed again, Oliver was already speaking in low soothing tones to his son. “But I want you to be safe with your mother; for the time being, you’re being placed into protective custody…”

Witness protection. _Right_ , she wondered as she watched Oliver pull away from William with that achingly sweet smile on his face, _are they going to stay there for the next twenty years?_ The Green Arrow had dozens of enemies, if not more. This wasn’t going away, not ever. In making this sacrifice, Oliver was leaving his son wide open for the wolves to step in. It would never end and yet he was smiling like it would.

Again, why was she the only one seeing the massive flaws in this plan?

And _that’s_ when it hit her: why he’d said no to escape.

If he’d gone with her, if they’d become fugitives, the government would have held William for ransom. Oliver’s enemies would have to get in line behind them, and they would. And the FBI would create a task force specifically for Thea Queen and that’s only after they arrest everyone affiliated with him.

_Including me._

How could she criticise him for that? Or be angry? There was no choice here, no good options, no alternatives.

 _But there has to be a better way_ ; watching Oliver step away from his like he had to force his body to take that giant back-step, she knew something inside her pricked awake. She would find one: a better way, _I’ll make it my new mission_. At the very least, she could establish a way for Oliver’s son to live a happy life; free from witness protection and the threat of being discovered by one of his father’s enemies.

Which meant getting Diaz once and for all instead of uselessly screaming him off a bridge before Oliver could get make sure he wouldn’t hurt anyone else ever again. With him gone, it would be much easier for Samantha and William to go about their lives seeing as how the egotistical deranged drug baron was the one with Cayden James’s code.

Eyes connecting one last time with Samantha’s, she sent her a subtle, pointed glance. A, _we’ll find a way_. And a, _you’ll be hearing from me_. And, _we’ll do what we have to for your son_.

Sam’s slow nod - her wide eyes and pallid complexion that told Felicity the woman, despite her massive errors in judgement, at least understood that danger lay ahead without Oliver present and not safety, but that he didn’t have a choice but to go - in response, was Felicity’s last reprieve.

Because then Oliver turned to her, before she was ready for him.

Over six feet of pure, rippling muscle; a jaw line that drew the eyes, hands that were calloused but beautifully slender and capable of touching a girl with feather-light precision, lips that were just the right size and shape for her, and eyes that touched her soul.

Oh, she wasn’t ready for him.

But he opened his mouth.

_Don’t say it, don’t-_

And he said nothing, not with his voice; but he spoke a great deal with his eyes. Taking her in, they both lost and gained something she had zero chance of fathoming; something she couldn’t name. Acceptance was a coat of paint over the blue, but the serene softness couldn’t take away from the exquisite pain that made pinpricks of his pupils; that turned violet blue into a crisp winter’s morning.

She’d never been able to fully hide from him what she was feeling; maybe it went both ways.

So why was Oliver, amidst the unhappiness, feeling resolve? About prison? And why did looking at her trigger it?

Massive chest bunching and shifting, he breathed in. Breathed deep. And he just looked at her. He looked at her like was never going to look at her again and-

“Oliver.” She whispered, unable to take much more of his stare and that was a first for her.

He… he looked at her a lot. He looked at her without saying things sometimes, just because he could.

It was her secret, that she looked back and did the same.

It was unspoken between them, that this was something they couldn’t seem to help doing.

Eyes travelling, they lifted to her glasses… then the top of her hair and down; _down_ past her jacket, past her hips, to her feet before moving up again.

They levelled on her lips.

“See you later, Felicity.” He breathed, unblinking. Eyes smoky with the dying embers of unmet dreams and self-proclaimed, silent promises.

Larger than life.

Real.

“See you later.” She mouthed back; ridiculous and weak and feeling the absence of all the things she wasn’t inside of her, that she _needed_ to be.

It was _perverse_ to her how that made him smile. What was there to smile about? But he always did. He smiled at her to ease her own fears.

Pain lancing through her chest, her face screwed up against it. “ _Frack_.”

In the slits between her eyelids, she saw him reach out a hand.

He was a siren call.

Stepping in, she couldn’t open her eyes - even though she knew she’d have a crystal-clear shot of the expectancy in his face and the pleasure of knowing that she was coming in for a landing, because Oliver loved hugs - as she burrowed in. Arms fastening around his neck, face pressing into his shoulder; she felt the exquisite sensation of being utterly surrounded by him. Of her body being held so completely, so securely, that in these seconds she knew nothing could harm her.

Until the next second, the next minute when he would let her go. Forever.

 _No_. This was past the point of anything she’d experienced before. Eyes squeezing tight, it was like he felt her fight because his hand went to the back of her neck.

It was _cold_.

He was never cold.

Like something inside him had died.

“ _Oh_.” Arms around his neck, one wrapped behind his head; her hand sliding into his hair as she shuddered out a breath.

“Ssh.” And he rocked her from side to side, because of course he did. He was wonderful. “You’re going to be fine.” But she wasn’t, she could already feel it. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

The years between now and _then_.

A sound left her; wretched and utterly the opposite of the one she wanted him to hear from her in his last moments of freedom.

But he just pressed his face in the curve of her shoulder, his breath warm against her; his chest depressing like he was… like he was content with that sound she’d made. Grateful for her.

Even after years, Oliver was still surprised when someone loved him enough to cry for him.

 _I don’t want you to let me go_. She wanted so badly to say the words; to let him know there was someone who would always want him here. Who wanted him to stay, who needed him to be present in her life. But it would only hurt him, and he was already hurting enough.

The way he seemed incapable of letting her go - the tautness of his hold, the way she felt his fingers had grabbed hold of a fistful of her jacket - told its own story.

Samandra Watson’s voice destroyed their final moment of peace. “Mr Queen.” Felicity jolted in his arms. “It’s time.”

She felt the exact moment his chest trembled against her: somewhere between _it’s_ and _time_.

 _Oh god_. Someone had to do something. Someone, somewhere owed them; they had to show up and stop this-

“Okay.” Fragile. His voice was _fragile_ as he spoke to the skin at Felicity’s throat. “Okay.” Who was he trying to soothe, himself or her? “Alright.”

He was preparing himself.

 _I can’t do this_ , she though as his arms retract from around her. _I can’t let him just-_

Hands, fingers curving around each forearm, he gently - like she was a flower or made of china - brought her arms down from their hold on him. “Thank you.” He said, holding her wrists to his chest and when her eyes opened, she found his face a foot from hers. “For every salty forehead kiss.”

_“Ugh!” On her back, Felicity had the exquisite pleasure of being in a position to view every inch of Oliver Queen’s incredible form as he moved up from his crouch over her prone-self._

_“Are you alright?”_

_She nodded, gasping for air. “What was that? The fifth time?”_

_“Seven!” He announced, standing tall; oddly breathless and looking down at her panting form. He was in an unusually good mood; though he’d broken her fall with his arms and everything. “Not that I’m counting.”_

_The corner of his mouth curved, eyes flitting to the pathetic way she was sprawled and gave her a quick wink._

_Pretending to be offended was well past her energy level and she settled for prodding his shin with her toes. “Cad.”_

_She sounded like a pack-a-day smoker._

_And it was clearly doing all sorts of things for him: he seemed practically giddy. His eyes were twinkling,_ god _. Having no trouble placing one leg over her body to settle against her hip, he stood fully over her and_ wow _. “You’re improving.”_

_Arms extended from her body, she took the time to inhale precious oxygen before casting him a slap-happy glance and a sound to match. “Huh?”_

_Pressing his lips together did nothing to swallow that smile._

_Eyes closing, “ng,” she grumbled. “You can’t be real.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“Look at you!” She didn’t but, that wasn’t he point. “You’re just…” beautiful, perfect, hot, manly, unfair, “too happy about this.”_

_“I mean it though,” whether he did or not, all she could hear in his tone was amusement, “you’re improving. Your footwork is on par with Dinah’s-”_

_“In about ten years, sure.”_

_“-And you could give Curtis a run for his money.”_

_“Thank Nyssa for that.”_

_She heard him take a deep, relaxing breath. “Shall we go again? I think you have another round left in you.”_

_“Oh,” rolling her head slowly against the floor, she sent him a narrow eyed glare, tempered by the humour she was feeling and the fun she was having, “I am_ on _to you.”_

 _“…What?” She could practically_ hear _the mental pause as his eyes side-lined._

 _“This is entertainment for you, isn’t it? John’s getting treatment for his arm,” she said like he was a bored kid instead of a fully grown, badass adult male, “Rene’s at his court hearing and Dinah has a previous engagement,”_ probably a boyfriend _, the clandestine thing the meta-human pretended she was good at keeping secret, “and_ Oliver’s _bored.” She mocked and because she was exhausted it came out a heck of a lot sultrier than planned. “But oh, look; there’s Felicity!” his rebounding laugh was an extremely striking sound; made all the more so for the fact that it’d been a long while since she’d last heard it. “So, yes; I am_ on _to you,” she breathed, “and vengeance shall be sweet.” She promised, smiling and sweating and - despite the aches in her joints - enjoying herself. “Mr Oh So Innocent.”_

_“I think we can both agree that it’s been a long time since I could be called innocent.”_

_She laughed. “Help me up.”_

_And he did: taking her hands in his when her arms flopped upwards for a hand hold, not even grunting when she stumbled, almost toppling over as he pulled her up-_

_“I gotcha’,” he whispered, and she didn’t realise how close he was; not until she felt his breath whisper against her hair, making it tumble against her face._

_Until she felt the press of soft lips, followed by scruff that felt as lush as her cosmetics brush seconds later against her forehead._

_But it was over far too quickly, and it turned her about._

_“I-I’m sweating.” She floundered, blinking at him - pushing her fringe away from her face - as he backed away._

_“Hm.” Oddly shy - licking his lips - his eyes were trained to the ground and this boyish smile made his cheeks dimple under the scruff. “One more round?”_

It wasn’t until his hands were abruptly _not_ on hers that she realised the FBI had entered the room, that they were taking Oliver’s arms and cuffing him by the wrists.

And it was pretty much when Oliver lost the light in his face.

She knew because she was the only thing he could look at.

And him, her.

“Let’s go.” One of the guards muttered and she was seconds from throwing her fist in his face.

“Hey,” it was instinctive to protect him by now. “ _Hey!_ ” She started to rush forwards. “Get off him-”

“Felicity.”

Oliver.

It took everything she had to freeze in place, to drag her gaze from the guards already pulling out of the room and land on his face. _Please_. She silently begged him, having no idea what she was begging him for. _You’re hurting me._

That faint smile of his, as if his brain had already decided for him that he was long gone, stayed on his face until he turned; until he was escorted down the hall.

And then she couldn’t see him at all.

_Where… are they?_

Where were all the people Oliver had helped, had saved, had cared for? Where were his friends, his family, his loved ones? Where was her miracle-making now?

She didn’t understand. The no-show. It was impossible that this could happen, right? That one one would come and save him from this.

_Where the hell is Barry!?_

Barry Knew. Didn’t he know? She wasn’t sure. Did she tell him? What if he didn’t know? And what could he do to…

Standing there, the impossible became possible.

No one was coming.

Feeling her body move for her, she walked out of the room in a daze…

**Devil’s on your shoulder, strangers in your head**

**As if you don’t remember, as if you can’t forget**

**It’s only been a moment, it’s only been a lifetime**

**But tonight you’re a stranger, some silhouette**

 

_"…I am the Green Arrow.”_

The end of an era.

Right there, in front of the cameras and the thousands - the millions - watching, Oliver ended the last six years of her life. He did it, not with a sledge hammer, but with the whisper of a kiss.

He did it with a look.

A smile.

And a-

_“See you later.”_

It would never be enough.

He did it again when he saw that she’d followed the police van. When they pulled up outside of Blackgate after what felt like hours of driving and he saw that her beaten down polo was skidding in behind them, because she hadn’t been able to let him go… without one last look. One more smile. A wave.

Seeing her come flying out of side door - the air in her chest constricted - she’d caught his expression snap: fear and love and disbelief and that same _insane_ amusement at her timing.

But mostly he looked dead inside; back to the setting sun, he looked brought back to life for a few seconds before the dark seeped in, before she saw that - deep down - Oliver had given up.

Facing her, he closed his eyes against her.

The sun sinking to the horizon’s landline, he was a shadowed silhouette as he took those last few steps towards the penitentiary. Past the first set of gates. His new home, leaving her standing there. The facility looming overhead like some giant, hellish promise and the light dropped into the sea. Like her next great mistake.

John had tried to stop her from coming. She should have listened. It might have saved her the bile she retched up, the tears that blurred her vision and made her choke once night fell. The wave of despair that threatened to capsize her once she realised that night _had_ fallen, and no one was there to remind her.

How could she walk away and leave him standing so alone in front of a camera crew and a throng of people waiting for him to pull out his next great miracle. As if they hadn’t all just voted for an anti-vigilante law, as if they hadn’t all had a hand in his incarceration. As if they hadn’t proven that they were fickle minded and incapable of saving themselves.

But they were a city of people who, for the most part, _hadn’t_ had a hand in making things worse. Who’d paid prices that weren’t theirs to pay, who were victims of crimes that should never have come to pass. They’d had enough too.

Yet, they’d gotten used to having their fates decided for them.

Oliver Queen declaring he was the Green Arrow for all the world to see, turned everything sideways for them.

 _Now_ who would fight?

Maybe they’d wanted him to come out of the shadows, maybe they hadn’t, but the majority are rarely the ones with the priority say. Democracy was a cover screen in many places but especially in Star City.

There was too much to fight against. Too much had changed over the years. Perhaps if she’d – _they’d_ – aimed towards affecting the majority vote, appealing to the masses; maybe this would never have come to pass.

Too many maybes.

We didn’t do this for a thank you; to allow themselves to soak in adulation. It led down darker roads. Their mission wasn’t about becoming famous: _we do, what we do, because it has to be done. Not because people stop to shake our hands_.

Watching Oliver disappear past so many gates and bars and bolts and doors, she wondered how one, two, three, four, five, six years of trying could end with nothing.

_A me with nothing._

 

**Only been a moment, it’s only been a lifetime**

**But tonight you’re a stranger, some silhouette**

 

The door clicked shut behind her.

She stared into the yawning chasm of the Loft: so empty and yet so full of memories and emotions and fears. Their haunts.

She stood there for a long time.

He wasn’t there.

And the world was an almighty stranger.

She couldn’t move… _he isn’t here._

Not even an echo.

Years from now - when he got out, whenever he got out - he might come here, might stand in the exact same spot that she was standing in now and find it empty. Or occupied. It had originally been Thea’s, but she’d offered the second bedroom to Felicity. Since she’d left, Oliver had taken to coming over almost every night to discuss battle strategies, plans; to just spend some time. To eat. Sleep. _Be_.

He wasn’t going to do that anymore.

_Was it always this big?_

The lights were off because they’d made sure to switch them off before leaving and she didn’t flick that switch back up because right now, the dark was her friend and the light could burn. The night was a hug; artificial light, a reminder of what was missing would just show the great empty she’d have to face for the rest of her life.

And she could notice without the light that Oliver had… he’d erased himself from the apartment.

When had he done it? During lunch? Before his last mission as the Green Arrow? Before he’d dressed in his leathers to walk through the SCPD’s main precinct for the first time without hiding himself?

His second set of keys, the spare jacket, the hand towels he’d washed and folded; instinct told her she wouldn’t find his spare toothbrush upstairs. The remains of every day he’d spent there, gone.

When had he secretly made sure there’d be no reminders of him here when she got home?

Had it been before-

_Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap-_

Memory and shock made a mess of her as Oliver’s birthday present came toppling from around the corner; they reached down her oesophagus and burned the area beneath her rib cage, her diaphragm depressurising.

She sucked in a breath as the sweetest little whine left the sleek fur and poufy-padded feet of the baby Labrador she’d stored in her apartment a couple of hours before, as it tried and failed then tried again to reach her.

It yipped when it, _she_ , teetered forwards; landing softly on one tiny leg before pulling itself back up and trying all over again. Doggedly.

A baby.

And she found herself lowering into a crouch: the helpful numbness that had seeped in after seeing Oliver carted away, dissolving; leaving a heavy tidal wave of sadness and loneliness its wake.

But she wasn’t truly alone, was she?

She had Oliver’s puppy.

And when it reached her trembling hands - the adorable face butting into her palms - she managed a croaky, “Hey, girl.”

Magically responding to her distress, it began to lick her fingers; that ever-sweetening whine coming out in quiet, second-long _beeps_ and it made her cup the baby’s face. Made her bring the wonderful creature closer until its paws were straining to touch her chest and face…

And she managed to get it out.

“He’s… he’s not coming.”

Oliver Queen went to prison on his birthday: his birthday present spent its first night with its new owner, licking the tears off her face as she crumpled to the floor.

As she asked for patience. Just for tonight.

She had no idea how she’d face tomorrow, except that if a baby puppy could force itself to walk on shaking legs then so could she.

Wait… and hope.

Could she?

 

**But tonight you’re a stranger, some silhouette**

**Silhouette, oh, silhouette, oh**

 


End file.
